Under the Full Moon
by ljbookworm
Summary: AU Werewolves have no rights in Magical society. With Sirius gone, Remus Lupin needs a new protector. NOT SLASH
1. Chapter 1: The Unexpected Inheritance

Chapter 1- The Unexpected Inheritance

_Disclaimer- If I owned Harry Potter, Harry would have salvaged one sole remaining time turner from the Department of Mysteries and saved Sirius in some intricate plot involving Polyjuice Potion and the Imperious Curse. Or someone would have thought to stun Wormtail in the Shrieking Shack._

* * *

No one glancing outside their living room windows could have failed to spot the old man appearing out of thin air, yet somehow no one noticed. Perhaps this lay in the complete silence of the apparition. It certainly had nothing to do with subtlety of dress or manner. He strode along Privet Drive with high-heeled boots clicking on the tarmac, wearing what looked like a cross between a pantomime dame's dress and a Hawaiian shirt, counting down door numbers as he progressed.

On this quiet Monday night during a foggy, damp July, Albus Dumbledore was calling upon his most famous pupil.

He reached Number Four, trying hard to contain his impatience, gave three sharp raps on the door knocker and waited. In the time it took for the obese Muggle to thunder through the hall, he gathered his agitation and shored it up behind formidable Occlumency barriers, determined to present his usual front of all-knowing calm.

"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did _not _warn you that I was coming," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "However I can assure you that I will return your nephew shortly. We have some private matters to discuss."

Uncle Vernon said nothing at all, seemingly shocked speechless. Perhaps the sheer wizardliness of Dumbledore's robes, twinkling with silver stars on forget-me-not fabric, had robbed him of the ability to breathe. Harry could only hope.

"Let us step out into the night, Harry," Dumbledore beckoned. "It does not do to tarry over long on doorsteps in these troubled times."

Harry stepped cautiously round his uncle, suppressing his ingrained instinct to duck, and rushed down the steps.

"Professor, what's this about?" he asked, as Uncle Vernon stormed off to the kitchen. "I thought you weren't letting me leave until Friday."

If the ancient wizard detected the bitterness of that statement, he did not show it.

Dumbledore smiled gravely. "You are- as is often the case- correct, Harry. The wards require your residence here until the end of the week but tonight your presence at the Burrow is required with great urgency. If you will take my arm?"

They turned away from the open door of the Dursley residence and Harry reached for Dumbledore.

"My left arm, please. As you can see, my wand arm is not at its best."

Only then did Harry notice the thick white bandages constricting the headmaster's right hand. As he opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, the back of his jumper was grabbed tightly and he was squashed into the side of the scrawny old man.

"You may experience some slight discomfort."

Harry had barely stopped retching from the sensation of being squeezed through a very small

tube, when the headmaster steered him round chickens and wellington boots towards the rickety door and a kitchen filled with members of the Order, some of whom Harry only vaguely recognized. A smattering of red hair marked a full contingent of Weasleys, and Hermione hovered beside the cooker with Hestia Jones and a diminutive wizard with orange whiskers.

"What's going on?" Harry blurted out.

"Sirius' will reading, mate," Ron said. "Dumbledore says it can't be read until everyone that Sirius invited is here."

"Very true, and it is urgent that the will be read," Dumbledore said, "as you will understand shortly. If you will sit down, Harry?"

Albus sat at the table between Severus Snape and Remus Lupin, while Harry took the only remaining chair, by the fireplace next to Ginny.

"I know this is difficult, Remus," Albus said, "but Sirius felt that you should be the one to explain."

The werewolf, who looked crumpled and ill to Harry, sighed. His eyes were rimmed with red when he finally looked up from his hands.

"You all know that I'm a werewolf," he said. "But only Albus, Severus, and Mrs Tonks know just what that means." His gaze lingered on the expressionless Andromeda, and Harry thought he looked oddly wary. "A long time before written records, the Ministry of Magic created a curse to control the werewolf population. No one knows how they did it, and it's always been hushed up as shameful, but they worked the curse into the fabric of the lycanthropic infection. Every living werewolf is also cursed by this ancient magic and the only way to stop it being fatal is for a human to cast a...a certain spell, that counteracts the curse's effects."

"What type of spell?" Emmeline Vance asked softly.

Remus' breath caught. "It's related to the magic binding house-elves. Compulsion and ownership bonds." He bowed his head as gasps of horror filled the room.

"Slavery, then?" Hermione raged. "That's what you're trying to say?"

Remus flinched, then snapped, "Yes, Hermione. That _is_ what I'm trying to say. I'm a bloody _slave_!"

"Remus!" Dumbledore scolded, and he subsided at once.

"Sorry, Hermione. Sorry, professor."

Hermione was doing an excellent impression of a drowning fish, as was Mrs Weasley. Tonks knocked a cup to the ground as she pushed back her chair, but no one moved to repair the shards. Her hair cycled through a miasma of colours. Harry felt suddenly ill.

Dumbledore clasped his hands together and twisted a ring on his wasted middle finger.

"Perhaps you should continue explaining so we can proceed."

With an insistent nudge, the werewolf again began to speak. "The curse makes us ill and will kill us if we remain without a bonded owner for more than three full moons. When we're first turned, we can be claimed by any witch or wizard, and our consent isn't necessary. Until not very long ago, if a new werewolf was registered unbonded at the Ministry, there would be an...an auction amongst the people who worked in the Creatures Department. The spell enforces a lot of behaviour control charms. I can't lie to my owner or disobey an order. I can't argue with him and I need set rules and tasks to follow or the bond will cause me to become emotionally unstable. If I break a rule, it causes severe distress until I have been sufficiently punished. I also cannot..." He halted abruptly.

Albus frowned, eyes glinting. "Remus cannot have any input into who stands to inherit him. He cannot talk about it, if he overhears even just speculation on the subject he will become distressed until he is obliviated of the knowledge. The magic demands that both werewolf and inheriting owner must find out at the same moment from an official will reading, attended by a large invited group of the deceased's acquaintances, so the heir cannot be guessed."

"You mean that Sirius...?" Tonks said disbelievingly.

"Sirius was my owner," Remus admitted. "James came across mention of the spell in an old library book while we were still at Hogwarts and confronted me about it. He arranged a meeting with my owner at the time and persuaded him that I should be passed to Sirius. It only worked because Sirius was a Black. He inherited me when I was eighteen." He closed his eyes. "Sirius was furious when he found out."

"What did he do?" Molly said, quietly.

"He clung onto his stupid morals and almost let me die," Remus said, bitterly.

"That's about the harshest thing I've ever heard you say about Sirius," George pointed out, puzzled.

"Just because I couldn't before, didn't mean I never wanted to," he shrugged. "And whoever-" He stopped suddenly and took a deep breath. "I can't interact naturally with my owner," he rephrased, "but it doesn't _have_ to effect my interactions with other humans unless they insist. Sirius decided we could keep it secret and none of you had to know."

Silence fell, many of the Order seemingly struggling with the confession. Harry shifted in his seat. Slavery? Sure, he knew about house-elves, but the well-treated ones wanted to serve, didn't they? But something like this, completely unwilling, and Lupin was a victim...that was just sick. He felt chilled to the bone.

Hermione cleared her throat. "What are your legal rights?"

"I don't have any. I am legally property and my owner can do what he or she wants with me," he said, in a very small voice. "In court, my testimony is worth nothing. I knew that Sirius was innocent, but my word can't be given as evidence, even under Veritaserum. The enslavement magic twists our magical cores and we can't betray our humans, so I would have insisted he was innocent even if he _had_ been Lily and James' Secret Keeper."

"Zis is 'orrible!" Fleur exclaimed, and a wave of outrage from all assembled followed.

"How did we not already know about this?" Kingsley asked. "We're Aurors!"

"We learned during training that werewolf evidence is inadmissible in court, and should be ignored in investigations," Tonks pointed out, "but I thought that was just prejudice. No wonder any case involving werewolves should be referred to the Creatures Department."

"It has been kept quiet, both to protect the werewolves themselves and to protect

wizarding pride," Dumbledore said. "There are also very few werewolves left in the world nowadays, and those left tend to belong to small branches of the very oldest Noble Houses."

"Why are there so few?" Hermione pressed.

"It is seen as more convenient to let us die," Remus said, voice wavering. "And when I said 'no legal rights', I meant it. I don't have the right to cause harm to any witch or wizard, even in self-defence, except in direct defence of my owner. If attacked, my options are to let myself be killed or to fight back and be executed later by the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. If I hit, say, Kingsley, with even a Bat Bogey Hex he would be well within his rights to haul me before the Ministry for execution."

"Two hundred years ago, Kingsley would have been expected to hit him with a Killing Curse without hesitation," Albus added.

Most of the witches gasped. Remus dropped his eyes back to the table and clasped his hands together so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Dumbledore sighed, "If you would put the kettle on, Molly, I'm sure we all need a little time to absorb what we've just heard."

"Of course, Albus." She stood up, shakily.

An awkward silence fell, in which Remus tried to avoid all eye contact and not pick up on the scent of shock and disgust carried by almost every Order member. Only Dumbledore was seemingly unaffected, and the thought caused no small amount of disquiet. The Leader of the Light felt worry, trepidation and his usual self assurance.

"And I thought I had problems," Ron said softly.

Hermione hushed him. "It's barbaric. The Ministry sounds like it was even worse in the past, doesn't it? Poor Professor Lupin."

At the other end of the table, Kingsley Shacklebolt poured three spoonfuls of sugar into his tea with shaking hands. "Remus doesn't deserve this."

"You knew?" Tonks turned to her mother, who laughed coldly.

"Of course I knew. How could I not? I grew up in the House of Black. My mother owned Fenrir Greyback."

Kingsley set down his tea in a hurry. "Greyback?" he spluttered.

"I was disowned long before I would have inherited," Andromeda continued. "Bella and Cissy have all the Black werewolves between them."

"Except me," Remus added softly.

"Do you count?" she said, disdainfully. "You're hardly of the same breeding line."

Remus bowed his head, and he did not see her expression turn dark and spiteful, though Harry flinched at her sudden mirroring of Bellatrix's haughty hate.

"Oh, don't be so pathetic. I _do_ recognise you, you know- I always have. Fenrir's cub, always in our kitchens trying to filch food. The filthy little mongrel, not born but a _bitten_ werewolf. How we all laughed when Sirius befriended you at Hogwarts! Did you think I wouldn't remember?"

The werewolf clenched his teeth, biting down sarcasm. "I didn't think the spoiled pureblood princess would pay enough attention to remember such a _lowly_ Creature. I must have forgotten your capacity for vindictiveness."

Andromeda's eyes lit up with pure rage. "I would have thought you'd be a bit more respectful, wolf, considering that you'll likely be kept within the family," she snapped.

In the blink of an eye, Dumbledore drew his wand. Just as Remus clenched his fists in pain, a sharp obliviate drove the words from his mind.

"Andromeda Tonks!" Dumbledore said. "I expected better from you."

Her answering smile was slow and sly. "Haven't you played the Obliviate game before, Albus? It's ever so much fun."

"Enough! Don't you think this situation is distressing enough without going out of your way to bait him? We are here to read your cousin's will- show some decency."

She drew herself up, radiating indignant pride. "I'm quite aware of the situation's gravity, and I don't think this sickening display is in any way fitting. Sirius was the Head of House Black- the will should be read without any of this pandering. The wolf should go to whomever Sirius decided and be grateful for it."

"You're acting like you think it's right," Tonks said, shocked. Her eyes were completely black.

"I may have married a Muggle-born, but I'm not any less a Black. I don't see anything wrong with werewolf enslavement." She smiled, and her similarity to Bellatrix shone all the stronger. "They need it after all. And they're only werewolves. Some of them would do well to remember that."

Remus flinched at the barb.

"Mum!" Tonks exclaimed.

The pureblood witch was unfazed. "Even Remus knows I'm right."

With a nasty smile, she rose to her feet and swept from the kitchen and out the back door.

"What _was_ that?" Hermione whispered.

"Nymphadora, could you please go and fetch your mother back? We need her for the reading," Dumbledore said.

"You're not going to let her speak to Remus like that?" Molly protested.

"She's perfectly within her rights. As a Black addressing a family werewolf, she was positively polite," Snape said.

"That doesn't mean it's acceptable."

"It is, though," Remus said quietly. "Please, you don't need to defend me."

Molly stared at him, as though she had never seen him before.

Ted Tonks sighed. "Sometimes I wonder why she married me," he confessed. "I don't know how Sirius came out of that family so decent."

Remus frowned. "He wasn't always decent."

Suddenly the focus of the whole Order again, he shrugged.

"You shouldn't let her talk to you like that!" Molly continued to rage.

It was difficult to contain his scowls, but he reminded himself of her ignorance. The import of his revelation had not sunk in and she didn't understand.

"That was nicer than normal." He shrugged, deliberately playing up his indifference. "She only called me a mongrel once, and there wasn't a mention of fleas."

"I'll have to be more inventive in future," Andromeda said from the doorway. She resumed her seat proudly with her daughter trailing nervously in her wake.

"I don't know why you're treating him like it's some great shock," she said, halfway between scathing and confused. "He's known this was coming for weeks and it's not like he's never been inherited before. He isn't some newly bitten basket case of denial."

"That's why that werewolf in St. Mungos last year was so upset," Arthur realised. "The man who had just been bitten. I thought he was being a bit unreasonable."

Hermione gasped, but most of the others just looked confused.

"He had told the Healer he would rather die," Remus said, "so she claimed him while he was asleep. He threw a tantrum about it and earned himself quite a lot of..."

"Quite a lot of what?" Hestia said, softly.

His amber eyes dropped to the tabletop and he refused to answer. "Forget it. Pain potion, Severus?"

The Potions Master tossed over a vial of blue liquid and Remus uncorked and downed it in one smooth motion.

"Do you need another stomach-settler?" Snape asked.

"No. I'm starting to need more Anti-Cruciatus though."

"Anti-Cruciatus?" Arthur said, halfway between curious and horrified.

"The part about slow and agonising death wasn't an exaggeration," Snape drawled, pushing another potion vial into the werewolf's shaking hands.

"You mean Lupin is _dying_?" Fred said.

"Did you not pick up on that, Mr Weasley?"

"It's fine," Remus said. "Professor Dumbledore will read the will and I'll be fine." He knocked back the second vial and shuddered. "That tastes awful."

"Well, if you don't want it..." Snape drawled.

"No! No, it's brilliant. Absolutely delicious. It's helping already. Thank you, Severus."

Across the table, Harry's two best friends had their heads together.

"Who do you think Lupin will be bound to?" Hermione whispered.

"I don't know," Ron shrugged. "Harry's too young, isn't he? Maybe Sirius chose Tonks or Kingsley. He got on well with them, didn't he?"

Halfway into his statement, a lull in the adults' conversation left his words hanging in the air, fully audible to all. As Kingsley and Tonks did passable impressions of deer about to be hit by the Knight Bus, Remus' hands clenched into fists and he suppressed a whimper. The pressure on the inside of his skull that was the bond expressing displeasure was higher than he'd ever experienced before. He left out a half sob, and suddenly found himself struggling for breath.

Severus Snape cursed. As he snapped some scathing remark to the youngest Weasley boy, Albus Dumbledore was already raising his wand. He pressed it to the temple of the hyperventilating werewolf.

"Obliviate," he said crisply.

The Order watched as Remus calmed, a look of surreal unawareness spreading across his lined features. He slumped back in his seat as Albus removed his wand.

"That was singularly foolish of you, Mr Weasley," Albus said. "If it wasn't the holidays, I would take points."

"Your father and I will be speaking to you later," Molly glowered. "After everything we've just been told, you should have known better."

"I'm sorry!" Ron said. "I didn't think he would hear me. If you hadn't all stopped talking-"

"He would have heard you anyway, but the Headmaster wouldn't and it would have taken valuable time to deduce the problem," Snape sneered. "Werewolves have enhanced hearing after all."

Remus winced, the dreaminess leaving his features. "I really don't want to know what just happened, do I?"

Albus sighed. "No, you don't."

A sombre mood fell over the gathering as silence spread. Harry spotted Kingsley and Tonks communicating through a series of weighty stares, and his stomach churned. Not that he didn't like them both, but the idea of them owning Lupin, _as property_, was abhorrent. Lupin, whom he had always considered a semi-godfather, despite their limited interaction. Lupin, who had pulled Harry back from the Veil in the Death Chamber. Lupin, who had taught him the Patronus Charm.

Across the table, Hermione and Ron looked distinctly green around the gills.

Albus cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, it is important to read the will before anyone is called off on Order duties- I do not know if there will be another chance to get everyone together before the next two moons have passed. Please everyone."

His eyes lingered on Remus, who had turned very pale. To a circle of grim faces, he removed a sealed parchment from his breast pocket and held his wand to its glossy surface.

"I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, unseal the will of Sirius Orion Black."

With a shimmer of blue light, the seal fell away. Shaking out the parchment, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"This is the last will and testament of Sirius Orion Black. Thank you to everyone for coming. I hope you will forgive me for making this brief, but there is a degree of urgency associated with the reading.

"To Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks, I hereby reinstate you as members of the House of Black and release the contents of Andromeda's family vault back into her possession."

The Headmaster heard Remus groan slightly, and shot him an irritated glare.

"To Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, I leave ten thousand Galleons, to be used for Research and Development of pranks, and suggest that the last true Marauder may be a valuable source of information."

Remus smiled at the thought of assisting the mischief makers and some of the tension left his rigid limbs. Professor McGonagall let out a soft prayer as the twins grew very evil grins.

"To Minerva McGonagall, I leave my old Transfiguration textbooks. I'm sure you'll find the notes in the margins illuminating- we weren't just gossiping in your classes!"

The professor gaped as Remus snorted.

"What did you lot write in there?" she said, horrified, but didn't hear his reply through the laughter.

"To Harry James Potter, as my legal and magical heir, I leave Grimmauld Place, the contents of my old flat in Notting Hill, the Black vaults and my old motorbike, if Hagrid still has it. Unfortunately, I also must leave you the house-elf, Kreacher. It is my deepest regret that I could not be a better godfather to you, Harry, and I hope that you treasure our short days together as much as I do. As my last gift to you, I declare you legally emancipated. Give those good-for-nothing relatives of yours hell, with my blessing."

"My final bequeathment is the most important and it causes me great pain to think that I did not outlive you, Remus. I hate the thought of leaving you alone in an uncertain future. Before the ritual phrasing, I want to tell you that I always thought of you as a most beloved brother and ask that you try to remember me as such- that mischievous Gryffindor prankster instead of your reluctant owner. That hug two years ago in the Shrieking Shack was my welcome home and I wept over your distress afterwards. Don't mourn too long, Mooney. I'm sorry."

Albus paused and Remus bit his lip, ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks and trying to keep his breathing semi-controlled. Albus' hands shook slightly.

"I, Sirius Orion Black, of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, bequeath the werewolf hitherto permitted to use the name Remus Lupin, to Harry James Potter, of the Ancient and Most Noble Houses Peverell and Black. I apologise to you both and trust that this is for the best. Take good care of each other."


	2. Chapter 2: HouseElves and Tantrums

Chapter 2- House-Elves and Tantrums

Silence fell around the table. Ginny had an arm round Harry, who looked pale and shaken. Remus sighed in relief and bit his lip to hide a smile, even as the Order succumbed to shock.

"That can't be right," Professor Dumbledore said eventually. "Harry cannot inherit. The law says he must be of age."

"Harry's emancipated now," Remus dived in, ignoring the knot of fear in his stomach. He pushed it aside with the rest of the pain wracking his weakened body.

"But he's not yet seventeen." The calm tone would have been infuriating if not for the weight of meaning behind it.

"That shouldn't matter. He's legally an adult."

The headmaster scrutinised both Harry and the will, frowning as he poured over the text.

Emmeline Vance said, "What will happen if Harry _is_ too young?"

Her hands rubbed against the sleeves of her robes, fidgeting in that nervous gesture all-too-familiar from Hogwarts exams and Order missions. Remus was suddenly overcome with memories of her lounging around Sirius' flat in her pyjamas, dolled up in her finest dress robes before an expensive date, helping him wash plates when she stayed over for dinner. Being his friend, even as he played the old game of being Sirius' flatmate.

"I'll die," he stated, bluntly. "Sirius will have left a list of other people who can inherit, but only in the event that Harry is dead or in Azkaban at the time of the reading. If he wasn't certain when he wrote this..."

Her mouth fell open and her fingers tightened convulsively around her sleeves, gripping the plush green velvet like a lifeline.

"Merlin," Harry breathed. "Professor Dumbledore?"

With a muttered spell, a glow of golden light shimmered on the surface of the will and Remus laughed.

"The magic has recognised the will reading as valid," Albus stated. "The bond has partially transferred to you, Harry, and awaits your claim."

Relief swept through the assembled company.

"Claim?" Harry asked weakly.

"To accept the bond, you must speak some ritual words. I have them written here somewhere..." Dumbledore began to dig around in his sequinned pockets.

"You gave it to me for safekeeping, Headmaster," Snape said, in a subdued voice, producing a crumpled scrap of yellow parchment from his voluminous robes.

"Yes. Thank you, Severus. Now, if you will, Harry?"

His voice trembled almost as much as the narrow slip in his hands. "I, Harry James Potter, of the Houses Peverell and Black, claim the werewolf hitherto permitted to use the name Remus Lupin as my property."

A golden nimbus formed around Harry's limbs and he gasped as the light drifted away from his body towards Remus. When it reached the werewolf, it coiled around him, shooting upwards from boots to head, wrapping him in chains of magic. For a moment, the kitchen was illuminated, before the magic dissipated.

Remus choked down tears, closing his eyes as the restrictive spells settled once more into his bones. The familiar sensation of foreign magic permeated through him, pulling his skin too tight, raising hairs along the back of his neck and setting off a wave of dizziness and disorientation. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself upright as his balance swayed away from him. Somewhere in the fog of confusion and rising panic, a hand caught his arm and held him immobile until the feeling receded.

"Are you okay, Professor Lupin?" Hermione asked. She sounded scared.

He nodded his head a little, eyes remaining closed. "I'm not your professor any more, Hermione," he said, automatically. He sighed and met her eyes across the room. "I'm fine. It just feels a bit unsettling."

Snape snorted. The teenagers shared a plethora of concerned looks.

"Well, that worked out splendidly," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together. "Now, there are a few last orders of business to attend to." He lifted the disillusionment charm on a sparkling silk bag on the table and tipped out its contents.

"Here is Remus' wand." He tossed it across to Harry, who accepted it apprehensively. The chipped, damaged wood felt rough to the touch.

"Lupin." Harry passed it back over, sickened by the dawning truth of what the exchange meant.

"Do I have permission to use it?" the werewolf asked.

Tonks drew in a sharp breath. Harry's eyes widened. "Of course."

"Thank you."

The headmaster cleared his throat and handed over a sheet of yellowed parchment.

"These are Remus' ownership papers. You need to sign on the dotted line here and present them first thing tomorrow at the Ministry. You have an appointment in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at eight o'clock," Dumbledore said.

"Why?" Harry questioned.

"To sort out some paperwork and inform you of your responsibilities and certain laws," he said, offhandedly. "And so you may be apprised of Remus' personal history." The werewolf grimaced. "His caseworker will deal with you."

Harry nodded hesitantly. "Okay." He glanced at the parchment and made as if to slide it into his pocket.

"You would be better to sign that as soon as possible," Andromeda put in. "It makes him yours legally, as well as magically."

The glare she received would have given Voldemort pause. "I just think it would be rather cruel to sign it here in front of him. Not to mention half the Order."

The witch smirked. "Have it your way then."

The phrase tickled the back of his mind. Why did that sound so familiar? A glimpse of blue sky flitted across his memory, but slipped from his grasp like mist as Dumbledore called him back to the present.

"There is also a letter to you from Sirius," he said, pushing a thick envelope across the table-top.

Harry's name curled across it, elegant black ink fresh with his godfather's intent. He brushed a fingertip over it. His loss welled up again at the thought of Sirius touching this same parchment, writing this last missive to his godson.

"Does anyone have a letter opener?" he said, failing to tear the thick envelope.

"You can use magic, you know," Bill Weasley pointed out. "You're legally overage now. Not that it matters when you're in a wizarding household."

It coaxed a small smile from him, as he drew his wand. His spell cut through the parchment like butter. A rectangular object slid out and gleamed in the candlelight.

"A mirror?" Harry said.

"It's Sirius'," Remus realised, voice thick. "I had the other one."

"Like the ones linked between my father and Sirius?"

Remus nodded. "It was my idea. It gave me a bit more leeway, being able to keep in constant contact." He wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.

"Where is yours now?"

"I don't know. It was confiscated when I got to the Creatures Department. They must still have it."

About to ask what that meant exactly, Harry was distracted by the sight of folded parchment peeking out of the envelope. He grabbed a corner and pulled. Sirius' handwriting gleamed up at him. He was barely aware of the conversation carrying on around him, as he started to read.

"How did Sirius know to leave his mirror behind?" Mad-Eye said, suspicious.

"He always did when he thought he was going into danger," Remus said, still staring at the shining surface. "He said it was too precious to risk breaking it."

"And yet you had yours," the ex-Auror said.

A strong scent of hostility and disgust came from the man and it took a moment for him to pinpoint its cause. Remembering Mad-Eye's recent long imprisonment and open defiance of his captor, he couldn't help but wonder if he was drawing parallels between their own situations and finding Remus lacking. He imagined that passive acceptance of the will reading seemed cowardly to this fighter, who had insulted Death Eaters even while under the Cruciatus.

"Because I'm in the habit of carrying everything I don't want to lose on my person," he replied evenly.

"Really?" Ginny said.

In response, he reached into his pockets, placed a handful of clutter on the table and enlarged it with a tap of his wand. The pile included a sheath of parchment, green ink, a dog-eared quill, a huge stack of letters tied together with string, a leather-bound photo album and a small, battered copy of _Advanced Transfiguration_. This last item, he picked up with extreme care, ran a hand along almost wistfully, and then slid across the table to Professor McGonagall.

"What…?"

"It's yours, professor. I'm sure you'll get a laugh out of it."

She shook her head. "I can't accept this. It obviously means a lot to you."

"Sirius left it to you." He sounded braver than he felt, letting go of this piece of his past, covered in Sirius and James' handwriting. "It's yours."

"He can't have meant-"

"It doesn't matter. It was bought with Sirius' money. Technically, he was only letting me use it, in the same way that all this stuff,"-he waved his hand over his meagre belongings-"is Harry's now. Keep it."

She sniffed disapprovingly, but finally picked up the textbook and slipped it into a pocket in her robes.

Hermione watched carefully as Lupin scooped up the rest of his belongings and muttered a shrinking charm over them. Nothing happened. He scowled and tried again with the same non-result. Taking pity on him, she cast the charm and the treasured items became pocket-sized again.

Waving off his thanks, she said, "Why couldn't you make the spell work?"

"The bond is fighting back the curse and there's too much magical flux in my system. I'd forgotten…"

He trailed off, and she suddenly felt breathless at the depth of sadness he exuded. Every wrinkle and grey hair stood out, the scars crossing his face ugly and fascinating, and he somehow looked _less_ in his ripped cardigan and robes than he ever had before.

She turned to Harry, wanting his reassurance as she felt herself floundering in the depths of tonight's discoveries, but he was folding up Sirius' letter with shaking hands and she suddenly felt sure that he had not heard a word of the exchange.

"Is there anything else, sir?" he said.

His eyes were rimmed with red and his voice wavered.

"Just one more point of order, my boy," Dumbledore said. He flicked his wand and, with the loud crack of house-elf apparition, Kreacher appeared, crouching on the cluttered table top. His bloodshot eyes skittered around the room and he twisted his bat-like ears nervously.

"Kreacher," Dumbledore stated.

"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't!" croaked the house-elf, stamping his feet in a juvenile tantrum and upsetting the milk jug. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh, yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't-"

"As you can see, Harry," Dumbledore half-shouted over Kreacher's rising chorus of denial. "Kreacher shows a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."

Remus cleared his throat.

"Kreacher," he stated authoritatively.

The elf halted his croaks of protest.

He lowered his voice to sympathetic softness, ignoring the Order's gasps of surprise. "We've talked about this."

Kreacher sniffed rather pathetically and his lower lip trembled. "Kreacher won't be owned by the Potter brat. Kreacher _won't_."

"You don't have a choice. Sirius named Harry as his rightful heir. He's a Black now."

The elf howled. "But filthy blood-traitor boy-"

"Is your new master," Remus cut in. "And you should treat him with the proper respect."

The house-elf glowered mutinously and crossed his arms, in the very image of a sulky toddler.

"Kreacher doesn't want to serve the half-blood boy," he whined. "Kreacher wants-"

"It doesn't matter what you want! You're just a house-elf! You've already betrayed one master, Merlin only knows how! Are you going to betray Harry too?" The outburst came from nowhere, and as quickly as the anger rose it was gone, swept away in a tide of nausea and fatigue.

Hanging his head, Kreacher looked thoroughly chastened, tugging on his ratty pillowcase and shifting from foot to foot.

"Remus is right," he said. "Kreacher is sorry, Master Harry, sir. Kreacher was a bad elf."

Harry gaped. "How did you do that?"

Remus shrugged, and the bond constricted around him until he offered up a proper answer. "I grew up with house-elves."

No one seemed to know how to respond to this. At least until Andromeda rose to her feet.

"I have better things to do with my time than listen to Creatures. I will see you at the next meeting, Albus. Ted?"

Mr Tonks made his own, much politer, goodbyes. He manoeuvred his considerable girth across the crowded kitchen and squeezed out the door.

"I have potions brewing," Snape said, and followed. Kreacher popped away at the same time, at Remus' silent urging.

Molly Weasley clapped her hands together. "Right, it's late. Time for everyone to get to bed."

She ushered her brood up the staircase and Ron stomped away with barely a glance in Harry's direction, though Harry was too occupied with thoughts of Sirius' last letter to notice.

"I'll take Miss Granger back to her parents," Mad-Eye growled, magical eye lingering on the youngest Weasley boy. His wooden leg screeched across the floor as he pushed back his chair.

"I'll see you soon, Harry," Hermione whispered, wrapping him in a hug.

"Yeah," he said. "We'll arrange a get-together in a few days, right?"

He was rewarded with a glowing smile and Hermione's hair bounced after her as she disappeared into the garden.

"Do stay for some tea, Emmeline," Mrs Weasley said. "I haven't seen you and Hestia in the longest time."

The pretty witch swept a curtain of dark hair over her shoulder and smiled sadly. "I'd be happy to. Truth be told, I don't really want to be alone right now."

Silence fell round the table and Remus focused on the emotions he could sense in the air, attempting to keep his attention on his surroundings and not how much he really wanted to crawl into bed right now and sleep off his sickness. Emmeline's grief and lingering love swirled around her, ebbing and flowing as her thoughts flickered. Tonks felt similar, under an oppressed cloud, and he wondered at it. He had not thought her very close to Sirius. Harry smelled determined..

"Sirius is probably telling us all to grow up and get over ourselves," Tonks said.

"Or to kill Bellatrix stone dead," Hestia said. "Good thing we aren't all as impulsive as he was."

"I wish I was more impulsive," Emmeline said. "Then I might have told him how I felt when I saw him again."

"He wasn't ready for that," Remus added, quietly. "He wouldn't have known how to restart your relationship, or been able to handle it. Azkaban left him an emotional wreck. I spent most of last year trying to hide his whiskey bottles, for all the good that did."

"I'm sure it helped," Molly said kindly.

"No, it didn't. He'd just say 'Remus, get me some Firewhiskey'." Remus' impression was uncanny and his listeners jumped. He smiled wryly. "I hated that."

Kingsley Shacklebolt fidgeted with the sleeves of his robes. "It's almost time for my shift. Until next time, everyone."

Remus grimaced at the sudden, awkward flight, certain that he was responsible.

"Now, my boy. I really should escort you back to your relatives, before they start to worry." Dumbledore's eyes glittered with self-importance.

Suppressing a laugh at the thought, Harry said, "I wouldn't like to waste your time, professor. Lupin can take me back- we need a chat anyway."

"As long as you reach safety before you stop for that discussion."

"Understood, sir. Are you still coming to pick me up on Friday?"

Receiving an affirmative, he said his goodbyes. The shell-shocked expressions of his friends-mirroring how he felt inside- were hard to ignore. Lupin followed him outside silently, and hung back as they picked their way around chickens to get to the end of the wards. Just outside the gate, Harry halted.

"I'm not going back to live in Little Whinging," he said. "Sirius wanted me to leave. I'm going to move into Grimmauld Place."

The steely determination in his voice sounded so like James, that for a moment the veil of years dropped away and it was Remus' best friend standing in the light of the waning moon. Then he paused and added, uncertainly, "Aren't you going to lecture me about my mum and blood wards and all that rubbish?"

"No. I just have to follow along with whatever mad-cap ideas you come up with." Then, thinking that his new owner might not appreciate his rather weak attempt at humour, he added, "I do agree with you though, and Sirius would have as well. Dumbledore shouldn't be allowed to run your life, and the Fidelius charm is better than those mysterious blood wards anyway."

Harry nodded, looking satisfied. "Can you apparate me to Privet Drive to pick up my stuff?"

"I can if you make it a direct order. My magic's erratic, with the new bond, so I need an extra push just now." Now his attention had been turned back to it, the feel of Harry's magic fighting the darkness within his veins made him nauseous.

"Alright then." With no small measure of distaste, he ordered, "Take me to the Dursleys."

Five seconds later, a loud pop split the night, and the human and the werewolf disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3: Home is a Black Place

Chapter 3- Home is a Black Place

The dark, festering atmosphere of Grimmauld Place crowded close around Harry as he took his first step into the hall. He flinched as Remus shut the heavy door behind them, blocking the orange glow from the street and plunging them into night.

"Lumos," Remus whispered.

Wavering wand light flickered over the mouldering carpet and up dingy walls, highlighting the spreading damp. He set down Harry's trunk, hands shaking slightly, and tried not to think about the awkward silence. He wished he knew what Harry was thinking.

When the lanterns on the walls finally flickered on, he extinguished his wand.

"This place still looks a dump," Harry commented distantly, glaring at a particularly gruesome stain on the wallpaper.

"Kreacher should be cleaning now. It'll take him a few days to fix everything but it should be like new in the end."

"Why didn't he before?" Harry said, his anger spiking.

"He didn't like Sirius," Remus shrugged. "And we all thought cleaning the house would keep Molly busy."

"Keep her busy! We spent half last summer scrubbing walls and de-doxying curtains!"

"Would you rather she'd had weeks of spare time on her hands, to pry into everyone's business?" he asked wryly.

"I'd rather have spent more time with Sirius than cleaning!"

"Well, Sirius was too busy trying to persuade the Headmaster not to tell you about that Merlin-cursed prophecy." The words blurted out before he could stop himself. He froze, appalled at his own lack of caution, and hating himself for the blossoming fear in the pit of his stomach. This was _Harry_, not...

"You knew? You knew and you never told me?! Just how much have you lied to me about?"

"It was Sirius' decision not mine."

"Yeah, and you just went along with it!"

"Of course I did. Don't you get it, Harry? I was his _slave_, I couldn't disobey him."

"Right," Harry said tightly. His fists clenched at his sides.

To Remus, the house seemed far too still. Even when Order members had not been coming and going the year before, Grimmauld Place had never seemed as lifeless as this. The portraits slumbered, Buckbeak had been relocated to the Hogwarts hippogriff herd (as Dumbledore himself had informed Remus only two weeks ago) and Sirius Black was no longer to be heard cursing the very foundations and all the powers of fate. Loss and uneasiness threatened to swallow him and he cast about for something to distract him.

"Have you eaten?" he said. "The larder's full- I can make you dinner or just a cup of tea if you'd prefer."

"You don't need to. I'm going to bed. It's been a long night. We can talk about everything tomorrow."

"Sirius set up a room for you beside his old bedroom. I'll help you upstairs with your trunk."

"I'm fine," Harry said sharply, grabbing the handle. "It's got a featherlight charm on it. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight."

Remus waited until he heard Harry's door click shut before he entered the kitchen and ducked behind the ragged old tapestry at the far end. Failing to light his wand, he scrambled about blindly in the darkened alcove, searching for the tiny Celtic knot carved into the wall. He pressed it gently. Solid stone dissolved in a burst of magic and the stale air of a hidden passage rushed out to greet him.

The narrow corridor continued for about ten feet before ending in a small dormitory. A rune on the wall flared when Remus brushed his hand against it, and two lanterns on battered night-stands came alive.

Four rusting old beds were pushed up against the plain walls. The only one made up with bed linen lay nearest the door and he flopped onto the ancient mattress with a groan. Fully-clothed atop the sheets, he stared at the damp ceiling and wondered when he would stop feeling like his lungs were on fire. The ebb and flow of human magic through his system was alternatively soothing and nauseating.

"Home again," he said quietly.

Murky recollections haunted his dreams. He tossed and turned, flashes of red light and veils flickered in a non-existent breeze and in turn these recent traumas gave way to the older and darker fear. Blackness surrounded him, still and hungry, gnawing at his insides and pressing cool as glass against his lips. The smell of citrus filled his nostrils and he cried out, calling for his father, for the human parents he could no longer remember, and despair enveloped him like a shroud. No one answered.

He woke to the alarm rune chirping its morning wake up call and dragged himself upright automatically. Years of conditioning propelled him in the direction of the washbasin. He had washed, dressed, made his bed and cast a cleaning charm over the room before consciousness properly caught up with him. He cast a wistful look at the newly crisp sheets and sighed.

"Can't afford to be late today," he muttered, heading for the kitchen.

The next hour was spent cleansing thoroughly every work surface with magic, setting the table, inspecting the status charms on the food cabinets, degriming the windows and selecting food for breakfast. He whistled as he busied himself, revelling in the feeling of being back in his element. This was something he could do easily, something that no one could fault him on, and the sense of regaining some control over his own existence quelled his fears for the day ahead. Every utensil and food item was stored in its proper place, familiar as the scars on the back of his hand and waiting for his use. Every sign of Molly Weasley's intrusion into his territory had been removed months before. In this dingy room in the bowels of an ancient wizarding house, he felt at home.

Only as time crept on did he start thinking about the consequences of the will-reading and worry crept over him.

He liked Harry. He remembered holding the tiny baby in his arms, terrified of dropping him, and marvelling at the wide eyes taking their first glimpses of the world. He remembered his vow to watch over him if something happened and, Merlin forbid, Sirius became Harry's guardian. Almost inconceivably, that newborn had grown into a capable young wizard, bright and kind-hearted, who possessed all the best qualities of his parents and a backbone of iron that was all his own. More than half of the Order were enamoured with his personality, never mind the status of Boy Who Lived. Remus had spent a year teaching him and watching him grow.

He worried that things would change now. He fostered hope that Harry would prove as accepting as James, but his lingering fears whispered of Sirius' influence on the life of the last remaining Potter. Perhaps, instead of James' quiet support and continued friendship, Harry would emulate his godfather and distance himself. Perhaps he would learn to look down upon the werewolf, seeing his forced dependency as pathetic and burdensome. Perhaps he would become brisk and cold and leave their friendly earlier relations as only an elaborate act for the eyes of the Order. Remus did not think he could bear seeing those familiar green eyes condemning him from James' face.

Circumstances were different now, he tried to comfort himself. Harry was a much better person than Sirius had been. No Marauder worthy pranks and shenanigans had trained him in cruelty and no pureblood relatives had taught him an ingrained sense of his own superiority. In fact, if what Remus had heard from where he waited in Wisteria Lane was any indication of Harry Potter's relationship with his closest remaining blood relatives, he had been taught the exact opposite of self-worth. No rift had existed between the werewolf and wizard before tonight, unless Remus' unwilling absence from his life counted. That would have to be explained, he noted, if Harry still appeared friendly and reasonable.

Of course he would be reasonable. Remus shoved his pessimism aside and focused on his memories of Harry during the previous summer, chatting away happily and seeming to genuinely like him, without fear of his lycanthropy. He wasn't like other wizards. If Remus could give his trust to any wizard, it would be Harry. And he _needed_ to trust that the future would not be unpleasant, despite how difficult it was to have faith in human actions.

"Good morning," Remus said in a suspiciously bright tone, as soon as Harry stepped through the doorway. His red-rimmed eyes were focused on the bacon as he fried it. A pot of beans bubbled away beside the toaster and another frying pan contained two gold-yoked eggs. Fat sizzled.

"Morning," Harry said, as he plonked down at the table. "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Harry snorted in disbelief. "You look wrecked. Did you sleep at all?"

"Not very well. I couldn't stop thinking about having to go into the Ministry today." His hands shook as he split the food onto two plates, set the pot back on the cooker with a clang and pulled up a chair.

"Do I have permission to eat with you?" he added, quietly.

Harry raised his head and stared. "Are you crazy? Of course you can eat with me."

"Sorry. With the bond...I needed to ask. Does that mean I always can?"

Harry nodded dully, picking up his knife and spearing a sausage. Sadness settled round him like a heavy blanket. They ate in silence for a while. Remus ate with gusto, tucking away the food like he hadn't seen any in weeks, and cleared his plate almost before Harry finished cutting up his sausages.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Remus said, setting down his cutlery. "This must have been a shock, and...you probably don't want to be burdened with me."

Harry looked up in alarm. "You aren't a burden. Don't say that. I'm unhappy about the whole situation, but only for _your_ sake. You don't need to apologise for any of this."

The utter dejection on Remus' face made his heart clench.

"I never thought Sirius would emancipate you. I was so happy that he left me to you, and then I felt guilty because I know you don't want this."

Harry shook his head. "I'm glad Sirius didn't choose anyone else. It's bad enough that it's me. I still can't get my head round the whole thing."

"I thought that it would be Mrs Tonks. Sirius always called her his favourite cousin, and she taught him almost everything he knew about werewolves."

"She seems really prejudiced. I didn't expect Tonks' mum to be so...so..."

"Traditional?" Remus offered. "Her sisters are Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy. She was raised thinking the world revolved around her and her pureblood ways, and I'm sure I would have been utterly miserable as part of her household."

"You really are happy about this?" Harry said incredulously. "I mean, I know we've never been very close, and we've never even really written to each other, and this whole, well, _slavery_ thing is horrible, and...how can you be _happy_ about this?"

That sense of disbelief had always been difficult for Remus to understand, even when James had posed the same question. James Potter had raged about injustice for days, even weeks, and had never accepted that it was just the reality of lycanthropy. There was no cure and no counter-curse.

"Harry, what you need to remember is that my life has always been this way. I've never known anything different, and I never will. Sirius owned me. It was his right to give me to whoever he wanted and I would have had no choice but to accept it. I'm happy that he chose one of the few people I would have picked if I _could_ choose for myself."

Harry pushed his beans around on his plate. "Don't you blame me for Sirius dying?"

This was survivor's guilt, Remus realised, and needed to be headed off early. "Why would I? Bellatrix Lestrange murdered him, not you."

"I'm the reason he was there."

It was true in a way, but the image that hurt Remus most was not of Sirius falling behind the veil, but Sirius ordering him to stand aside from the front door of Grimmauld Place, to stop begging him to stay hidden, to accompany him to save his godson. The last remaining son of the House of Black wild with worry, stepping out of his house for the last time. Harry's foolish, noble urge to save Sirius had been matched perfectly by Sirius' urge to save Harry.

He could not say that.

"Sirius wasn't well. Even before Azkaban he was impulsive and reckless. He stopped to taunt his enemy in the middle of a firefight, and that is _not_ your fault."

"So you're blaming Sirius!" Harry snapped, and Remus flinched.

"I'm not," he urged. "I just don't want you to blame yourself."

The anger faded abruptly, replaced with a bereft look and mournful tone."But I _am_ to blame. If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have been anywhere near Bellatrix Lestrange."

The witch's name alone made Remus tense. The thought of her killing her own cousin made him want to vomit and he only hoped he would never cross paths with her again. She had been twisted even as a child, soaking up the hate filled rants and unpredictable violence of her mother like a unicorn basking in moonbeams. Druella taught her to practise the Cruciatus Curse on their house-elves when she was twelve, Remus distinctly remembered. It was hard to forget the quiet horror which predominated in the kitchen afterwards.

Now Bellatrix's actions were hurting not a childhood friend but Harry James Potter, upon whose shoulders all his hopes depended.

"I knew Sirius better than anyone else ever has. And the most important thing for you to remember is that he loved you. He broke out of Azkaban to protect you and ate rats so that he could be near you. You didn't raise your wand to him, you didn't kill him and he would not have wanted you to hurt yourself by believing otherwise."

The message was not sinking in. Confused emotion tumbled through the wizard, who turned defensive.

"Why do you care anyway?" Harry said, tone more petulant than hurtful. "You've pretended I don't exist for most of my life."

The accusation stung. It wasn't true, but if things had been different, Remus would have been part of Harry's childhood, helping raise him.

"I couldn't visit you. With Sirius in Azkaban, the Ministry took custody of me and they barely let me leave the flat."

The excuse sounded less valid than it was. Nothing could truly describe those long, maddening years of house arrest and sporadic supervision by sneering humans.

"You could have sent me a letter or something."

He shook his head. "I was expressly forbidden to contact any witch or wizard other than Werewolf Section employees."

"You didn't have to listen to them."

Those pleading eyes cut right through him.

"I did. Two days after Sirius was imprisoned, I was taken to Azkaban so that he could order me to obey the DRCMC officials, and to accept their discipline as his authority- it's part of their regulations for controlling werewolves owned by convicts. If I had sent you even one short note, the bond would have seen it as disobeying my owner and those officials would have taken great delight in punishing me for it."

Merlin, this was so embarrassing. He had never had to actually _explain_ this sort of thing before. James had figured out a fair amount from the Hogwarts library's Restricted Section, and Andromeda Tonks had gleefully educated Sirius both before and after their initial meeting with Remus' case-worker. He would have to try to keep Andromeda away this time round.

They lapsed into silence again and a multitude of unspoken thoughts swirled between them like Dementor fog. Grimacing, Remus gathered up his plate and cutlery and dumped them into the sink, setting them to wash themselves.

"Would you like some tea?"

Harry gulped down his mouthful of egg and potato scone. "Yes, please."

Tea was poured and a warming charm placed on the half-empty tea pot. Sipping from his own cup, Remus became aware that Harry was staring at him with something akin to dismay. Much as he hated to add to the unpleasant revelations piling up, it was important that the information was assimilated quickly and that Harry knew the intricacies of the bond's function and the behaviour expected from both of them.

"Before we go to the Ministry, you should know that they'll talk to you as if I'm an object, or scum on the bottom of your shoes. It's socially acceptable that they act like that and you shouldn't draw attention to yourself by showing any protest."

Harry looked like he had swallowed a lemon, giving Remus a sharp flashback to Lily's wedding and the seemingly permanent sour expression of her older sister.

"That's awful. How can they think its alright to treat people like that? Isn't the stupid curse enough for them?"

"They don't see me as a person, but as a dangerous magical creature. The bond makes them feel safe to show their disgust because I'm deemed under control. Sirius didn't help either- he used to wind them up by talking about how uncommonly violent I was during the full moon, and asking if they thought it was because I was too 'placid' the rest of the time."

Harry just looked confused and Remus decided he had better start talking about Sirius as little as possible. Harry had not seen the darker side of his godfather, not really, and it would not do to have him thinking ill of the dead. Particularly as he would likely have a bad reaction to any slights against the man.

"Anything else I should know before we go?" Harry said.

"The meeting is for giving you all the important information, but you will have to watch how you treat me. We can't appear to be too friendly. You had best be short with me, as if you hold me in utter disgust. No one thinks that behaviour towards a werewolf odd. And I'll be unobtrusive and won't speak unless spoken to."

Harry looked appalled. "Merlin. I don't think I can do that."

"It's important. You're expected to behave the way Mrs Tonks did yesterday. Not just as a werewolf owner, but as a Black. You have to prove that you're worthy of being Head of House."

"How about I settle for indifferent?" Harry said. "You behave the way you're expected to, and I'll mostly pretend you aren't there."

Remus smiled. "That should work. May I be excused?"

"What?" Harry's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.

"May I be excused from the table?" Remus repeated calmly. He tried not to think about the way Harry's scent filled with sorrow as the question sunk in.

Warning imparted and permission received, he disappeared into the cold pantry and found some ham to set out for lunch. He renewed the seals on some of the jars, checked the dates on the sauces, and sliced off a lump of cheese to join the ham. He knew from the previous year that Harry didn't eat huge portions, and thought that sandwiches would be acceptable, even as his taste buds cried out for something more filling. The nutrition potions they had fed him at the Ministry left his stomach feeling hollow.

When he returned to the kitchen, Harry was rinsing his plate under the tap.

"That was brilliant by the way," he said. "As good as a Hogwarts breakfast."

Remus did not acknowledge the comment. He had something else on his mind suddenly. The subject seemed far too difficult to breach but he needed to know.

"Have you signed my papers yet?"

"No." The crisp parchment rustled in his pocket when Harry touched it, leaving a damp finger mark on the fabric of his shirt.

Remus drew in a quick breath and the air whistled between his teeth.

"I'll feel better when you do."

"Why? I would have thought you'd hate it."

"It's the curse that traps me, not those bits of paper. If you sign them it means the whole will-reading business is over and I'll be safe in your possession. You'll be legally able to protect me from the Ministry, if you want to."

"Protect you?"

He nodded. "I have no rights, Harry. The Ministry hates werewolves and the only protection I have is through property laws."

Harry gulped. "Alright then." The papers were produced and a signature scrawled across the dotted line. The black ink smudged slightly as the teenager removed his hand. After a drying spell, he folded it up and slid it back inside his pocket. His smile was rather strained.

"I suppose we should get a move on then. We've only got half an hour to get there."


	4. Chapter 4:Press Packs and Probity Probes

Press Packs and Probity Probes

They reached the vandalised phone box with only ten minutes to spare and broken glass crunched under their shoes as they shuffled inside. It was an easier fit than when he had been accompanied by Mr Weasley, Harry noted. Lupin seemed even thinner than normal, squeezed uncomfortably against the battered telephone.

"Aren't you going to dial us in?"

"You need to do it. Werewolves aren't allowed in unaccompanied."

Reaching across for the receiver was exceedingly awkward and Harry dialled the sequence as quickly as possible while fumbling over the old-fashioned device. When the familiar voice sounded around them, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry Potter and Remus Lupin. Here for an appointment in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Thank you. Visitors, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

Remus scooped up the badges from the coin return slot, trying not to elbow Harry.

"Harry Potter. DRCMC Appointment," Harry read aloud, frowning as he pinned it to his t shirt.

Remus' read simply, 'WEREWOLF'. He sighed as he charmed it onto the front of his robes.

"Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium. Werewolves must remain unarmed and accompanied by a magical human at all times."

Harry forced a smile as the phone booth jerked and started its slow descent.

"That's a bit different," he said, dryly.

Darkness swallowed them and he felt queasy, trying not to think about the volume of earth above his head and the claustrophobic space. The trip down to the Department of Mysteries, only three weeks before, loomed large in his memory. He could almost hear that younger, naïve version of himself, riding this lift with burning purpose, never entertaining the idea that it could be a trap. The Harry Potter who still had a godfather, had never met Bellatrix Lestrange, never tried to perform an Unforgiveable, and never known the truth about his ex-Defence professor. That version of himself seemed like a distant memory now.

They plunged further down into the darkness, and Harry was struggling to shove the memories aside when a grinding sound reverberated through the floor and the lift shuddered to a halt. The weak lights flickered and then blinked out.

"Are we stuck?"

The scent of his panic filled the booth and goosebumps broke out on Remus' skin. He had to fight the temptation to give in to the shared emotion.

A disembodied voice announced, "The Ministry of Magic apologises for technical difficulties in the wake of He Who Must Not Be Named's return and begs forgiveness for any inconvenience caused."

They snorted almost simultaneously.

"Nothing happened anywhere near the visitor's entrance," Harry said. "_She_ didn't get that far."

"They're just making the most out of having an excuse for incompetency." Unlike Harry's disgust, Lupin obviously found the announcement amusing. Suppressed laughter was evident in his tone.

He winced as the lift screeched into motion and their descent continued.

The chinks of light which appeared at their feet could not have been more welcome. The lift dropped the last metre with a jolt that left them both gasping and clutching bruised limbs, even as the door swung open.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," said the woman's voice.

The first thing Harry noticed was the damage from Voldemort and Dumbledore's duel. The Ministry workers had mostly repaired the scorch marks, flood damage and general mess but flaws in the general veneer of glamour were evident. Scratched wall tiles had yet to be replaced and the golden statue of the fountain was nowhere to be seen. An empty space stood in the midst of the water feature.

Memories of that awful night assaulted him and for a long moment he was oblivious to the bustling employees, flaring Floos and Lupin's unveiled concern. All he saw was the shattered ghost of the golden centaur, scattered across cracked floor tiles, and Bellatrix Lestrange huddled in the shadows. He shuddered.

"Harry?"

"I'm fine.

Wide eyes and a clammy complexion spoke otherwise, but Remus simply nodded.

"Security is at the other side."

They joined the queue behind an old wizard carrying a hiccuping teacup and Harry strained to see past his absurd hat to the security desk.

"I don't think the queue is very long," Remus said, suppressing a smile as the Boy Who Lived stood almost on his tiptoes. Despite his nerves, he felt immensely pleased that it was Harry standing here beside him. Well, in front of him, as he was carefully maintaining a proper distance of a half step between them. His insides turned icy as he imagined how it would have been to follow Andromeda Tonks into the Werewolf Section, knowing that he would be bound to her for the rest of his life. Knowing that she didn't care two knuts for his continued existence and the ownership papers signed with her name could easily turn into a death warrant. He had tried not to show it the night before, but the thought of being inherited by her had terrified him. He doubted she had changed much since childhood, seemingly reformed witch or not.

A tiny blonde woman further forward in the line erupted into giggles at the sight of her friend's visitor's badge, though Harry couldn't read its slogan from his vantage point.

"I've always said that old booth has a horrible sense of humour," the witch laughed.

"I think the building itself operates the Visitors' Entrance," her friend mused, with all the airs of a puzzled Ravenclaw.

"What does she mean?" Harry whispered, as they shuffled forwards. "How can the _building_ write those badges?"

"Most magical buildings have a basic sentience. The more magic they've been exposed to, the more powerful the sentience. The Ministry is thousands of years old. Older than Hogwarts."

He broke off as he realised that Harry had reached the front of the queue.

The bored security wizard spilled tea on his peacock blue robes as he exchanged his mug for a Probity Probe. After a few cursory passes, he dropped Harry's wand onto his brass scales and snatched up the read out.

"Eleven inches, core made of phoenix feather, been in use five years. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"I keep this." The wizard stuck his slip of parchment onto a spike. "And you get your wand back."

"Thank you."

"Next."

Remus stepped forward. The glance to his name badge caused a double take before a grim smile settled over the guard's face. "Werewolf, eh?"

There were no half-hearted passes this time round. Remus struggled to stay still as the golden instrument was jabbed into his side with a force that was sure to leave bruises. Red crept up his face as he heard the witches behind him make several cutting comments. He winced at a particularly sore prod with the scanner and the security wizard smirked.

"Wand," he barked.

It clattered on to the scale when he dropped it.

"Fourteen inches, ash wood, unicorn hair," he said brusquely. "Been in use since 1970. A wand permit was re-issued three years ago after being revoked in November 1981. Correct?" He did not wait long enough for an answer. "You are not allowed a wand on Ministry property. You can collect it from the desk when you leave."

"Yes, sir," he muttered, trying to ignore the sneer and condescending tone.

A strip of parchment was handed to Harry and the wizard shooed them away.

"Wand permit?" Harry asked, quietly.

"Clause three of the Code for Wand Use states that _No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand_. Werewolves are sometimes issued permits from the DRCMC."

He tried to ignore the way the teenager gaped as he realised that twelve years of Remus' adulthood had been spent without access to a wand. An uncomfortable feeling knotted within his stomach.

Plunging back into the crowd, they wove their way into the smaller inner hall and started to elbow their way across to the lifts. It seemed even busier than Harry's previous visit for his disciplinary hearing and halfway across the floor he recognised some of the wizarding world's most persistent reporters milling about near the raised area in the middle of the hall. As he scanned the crowd, he realised that the press was mostly congregated at the foot of the steps.

"Hang on," Harry said, slowing to watch. "What's this about?"

"Maybe there was another attack," Remus said. The newspaper images of Amelia Bones' death place had been examined by the Order the night before, though he had not yet read the details and the conversation had barely registered through the haze of his illness and nerves. He _had _heard rumours of disappearances and arrests while he was in DRCMC custody, and it seemed that Voldemort's followers had increased their activity.

It seemed Harry wanted to watch, from the curiosity swirling in his scent.

"We've not got much time," the werewolf pointed out.

"This looks important."

A elderly witch clutching a potted plant at the back of the pack turned at the sound of his voice, and almost dropped her armful when she realised who was behind her.

"Sweet Merlin, it's Harry Potter!"

Remus heard her breathless exclamation but he doubted that anyone else could have heard her over the din.

"I hate being famous," Harry groaned. The woman was openly staring.

"Try casting a notice-me-not charm and they won't even realise they've seen you."

"I don't know how. You could..."

He pulled his wand from his sleeve and held it out in offering.

"I can't carry a wand on Ministry property," Remus hissed, recoiling in shock. No one had ever suggested such a taboo action within his hearing. During the Battle of the Department of Mysteries he had cast magic, but that was in defending Sirius- the sole acceptable motive. And he had been thoroughly dressed down even for that. Harry's shock mirrored his own, but the wizard smelt more surprised and confused at his vehement reaction. A good thing. He obviously still thought of his ex-professor as somewhat human, despite recent revelations.

It could not last long.

He channelled a small amount of wandless magic into his veins and focused on calming down. The result was better than one of Severus' calming draughts.

"There isn't an incantation. You just need to focus on the end result and tap your wand on your forehead, but you need to believe it will work."

Harry looked sceptical but he followed the direction.

"Did it work?"

"I think so. That witch just looks confused now, anyway."

The woman was gazing around with a vacant expression, scanning faces and seemingly searching for someone. Her eyes slid right over Harry.

"That's brilliant," he grinned. "I love magic."

The ambient noise level dropped dramatically and his last word almost echoed in the hall of sudden silence. The hairs on the back of Remus' neck stood up as tension filled the eerie quiet. Kingsley Shacklebolt emerged from the crowd and assumed a position at the top of the steps. Chatter erupted, then died as he cast a sonorus charm.

"He looks like he's had a busy night," Harry said, noting the crumpled robes and bloodshot eyes.

Kingsley cleared his throat and the photojournalists lit the room with blinding flashes.

"At fifty seven minutes past nine last night, the wards on the house of Emmeline Vance fell. At least five Death Eaters entered the property, with the intent to torture and kill. The Ministry was instantly alerted and a team of Aurors dispatched. Two of these criminals were caught at the crime scene, and we hope to obtain the names of their accomplices within due course. Miss Vance was visiting a friend at the time and came to no harm."

"If Mrs Weasley hadn't asked her to tea, she would be dead," Harry realised.

The image of the Dark Mark, floating emerald green against a darkened sky, burst to mind and Remus shut his eyes, shoving away the dreadful thought. Emmeline. Thank Merlin she was safe.

A witch at the front of the press pack waved her wand in the air, drawing attention in a shower of lilac sparks that fell like rose petals over the padded shoulders of her suit. Her style was vaguely reminiscent of Skeeter, but her manner seemed on a par with Muggle journalists, professional and serious. No Quick-Quotes Quills were in sight. Kingsley looked relieved when he spotted her and fielded her question with an inviting smile.

"Katarina Walker of the Prophet," the woman introduced. "Is it true that Miss Vance was targeted because of a connection to the Order of the Phoenix?"

Kingsley's dignity really was a sight to behold, Remus thought enviously, as the wizard drew himself up.

"I cannot think where you get your information, Miss Walker, but I can assure you that is not the case. You-Know-Who has always been known to attack purebloods who will not join him, and this appears to be the situation here. Emmeline Vance is a witch who has had a very lucky escape."

"Is that Rita Skeeter's replacement?" Harry asked quietly, eyeing the outlandish witch.

"I don't think so. Walker's worked at the Prophet for years, but she loves digging into cases until she gets the truth. She's a very credible columnist, with progressive ideals. I'm surprised she's covering a headline like this, but maybe she's been promoted since..."

"Ferguson Blair from WWN. Have the two captured Death Eaters been named?"

"Mulciber and Antonin Dolohov."

Uproar greeting this announcement. Calls for them to be Kissed immediately echoed round the grand chamber.

Remus drew in a sharp breath.

"Dolohov killed half of the old crowd last time round. He got Molly's brothers, Gideon and Fabian."

Harry's face was hard. "Dolohov was at the Ministry. He almost killed Hermione."

This was something Remus had not known. The events of that night were all a blur really, with the only moment of clarity being Sirius' long, horrifying fall through the veil. The rest was bound up in frantic worry and searing pain as the bond broke. He remembered Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy, but the rest of the Death Eaters had only been obscured figures in masks.

He wondered idly if any of his stunners had caught Dolohov, enshrouded in those anonymous dark robes. It was far less injury than he would have liked to inflict on the murderer of the Prewett twins, though he knew such thoughts were dangerous and best left, not just unspoken, but also out of mind. Better to remember the brothers as they had lived, rather than the carnage that had been wrought in their apartment for the Order to find, when they finally arrived too late. Better to forget the burning rage that had sparked in him at the deaths of the two cheerful wizards.

In that moment, if not for Sirius, he would likely have set off on a suicidal hunt to kill the Death Eater.

Now justice would be served, he thought grimly. For once, he was glad that wizard justice was brutal. He began to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of the Dementors' Kiss over a lifetime's imprisonment, and then froze, sickened with himself. How many times had he feared that fate for Sirius? The Dolohovs were an old family, and some of his peers would no doubt be ill with worry at this news. _Azkaban. Send him to Azkaban._

There was small chance of that verdict though, judging by the baying crowd. Actual blood lust seemed to be gripping even the most dotty old ladies, and Kingsley looked taken aback by the ferocity on display. He had still been a student, safely ensconced within the fortified walls of Hogwarts, when the last war ended. He had had little reason to fear Voldemort's most violent henchman.

So busy staring at the Auror's increasingly ruffled expression, Remus almost missed the light tug on his sleeve.

"We're going to be late," Harry whispered, and Remus' hand went straight for his wand to cast a tempus. He sighed when his fingers met thin air.

They ducked through the crowd of angrily gesticulating magicals, Harry's Notice-Me-Not holding, and rushed into an empty lift just as the doors began to close. Remus hit the button for level four.

"I thought we were going to be spotted," Harry said, as the lift voice reeled off floor and department names. He batted away a pink departmental memo that started to tickle his ear. "Did you see all those people? Voldemort wouldn't stand a chance if they reacted like that to _him_."

"True, but Voldemort doesn't stand a chance anyway. You do know that he's more scared of _you_ now than he is of Dumbledore?"

Harry snorted, and his smile twisted into something that bore a distinct resemblance to a grimace. "You don't need to lie to me. I know that I'm no match for him."

The dull tone surprised Remus, who felt his stomach twist uneasily.

"You're more powerful than you think you are. And besides, I can't lie to you, can I?"

Rather than coax a smile from him, as the same reassurance had always done with Sirius, this deepened Harry's frown.

"How can you joke about that? That's horrible."

The lift announcement interrupted before he could reply.

"Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau."


	5. Chapter 5: Truth and Lies

Chapter Five- Truth and Lies

Remus paused when the doors opened and visibly steeled himself before stepping out onto the sterile green tiles. Three corridors stretched off at right angles to each other, with matching metal plaques proclaiming the left hand side as the 'Spirit Division', the corridor directly before them as the 'Being Division' and the right hand side as the 'Beast Division'.

The thought occurred to Harry that he had no idea which sub-division of the Department he had to deal with, and he almost panicked until he realised that Lupin must know.

"Where do we go?"

Following the direction of Remus' nod- even as the werewolf dropped his eyes to the floor and moved into Harry's shadow- the teenager scanned the department signs as he passed open doorways. The Pest Advisory Bureau was bedecked in cages of Cornish Pixies. Office after office of tiny sub-divisions followed, including the Hippogriff Control Unit and the Dragon Incident Team. Harry would normally have been fascinated but the nature of creatures represented here only stoked his anger at the Ministry. Classifying Lupin as a beast!

His strides became faster as his rage built, and the doors flashed by, listing unimportant-sounding offices. His eyes flashed as he read each sign, wondering how far the corridor could possibly continue.

"Werewolf Section," he read in relief. He tried not to dwell on how nervous Lupin suddenly looked, or how much that unsettled him. Lupin had always been the cool, self-assured professor, dealing with poltergeists, potions professors and troublesome pupils with ease. Now, the man seemed reluctant to raise his eyes from the pristine floor tiles.

"Nothing else for it, then," Harry muttered, and turned the door handle.

The room inside was wide and painted a crisp white. Plant pots lined the windows, bursting with deep purple blossoms which cast their colour across the pale walls in a flurry of delicate patterns. Half-inclined to think this pretty, Harry's stomach churned when he caught a closer look and identified the flowers from his Potions lessons. Wolfsbane. If that wasn't a sick inside joke, he would knit hats for house-elves. At this prompting to look closer, he spotted the silver gilding on the desk, the chairs, the door handles and the frames of the qualification certificates on display. Practically everything in here was unsafe for Lupin to touch.

Harry forced himself to walk across the long waiting room, passing empty chairs, and stopped before the desk.

The elderly receptionist peered up from her paperwork and laid down an engraved silver pen.

Even the frames of her glasses were silver!

"I was told I have an appointment at eight?"

Trying not to wince at the uncertainty Harry displayed, Remus kept his head down and prayed to be ignored.

The woman sneered at Harry and he did his best to maintain eye contact. "And your werewolf's case worker is?"

He screwed up his face, confused.

"Madam Newton, ma'am," Remus supplied.

The desk worker sniffed disapprovingly. "She'll be out to see to you in a moment."

A graceful paper swan rose from the pile of teetering paperwork and flew through the office door.

Madam Newton turned out to be a witch with tightly curled grey hair, heavy eyebrows, and a string of pearls over her dark red departmental uniform. The robes drained all the colour from her face, leaving her ghastly pale and somehow even more intimidating.

"Remus Lupin," she glared. "Or is it something else now?"

She expected Harry to answer, Remus knew, but the wizard didn't realise this. He spoke quietly into the brief silence.

"It's still Remus, ma'am. This is my new owner, Har-"

"Harry Potter. I'm very pleased to meet you. Do come through."

She ushered them through to her office.

The room resembled a Victorian gentleman's study. A sturdy chair sat on either side of a huge mahogany desk, looked down upon by rows of shelves and wooden filing cabinets. Leather bound folders were visible in their hundreds.

Harry sat at her invitation and tried to ignore the fact that Lupin was left to stand behind him, attempting to sink into the background. Unease welled up and he clamped his mouth shut, not wishing to appear ignorant.

Madam Newton slid elegantly into her own chair and swivelled round to search the shelves behind her.

"Now, Remus Lupin," she said, pulling down a folder. "This one's a good one, though a mongrel, but still...Hmmm...here we are. Bitten in infancy, sold by auction to Mr Fespwitch, Head of this Division, then inherited by Sirius Black nineteen years ago. Superior defensive capabilities, with flawless awareness of spell suitability when he's casting- he knows how to defend his owner without causing any actual harm to human beings. Well-trained, biddable, prone to self-hate and melancholy. Yes, the perfect werewolf, really." Her eyes travelled further down the page. "Perhaps too highly educated."

Harry's stomach turned. Her matter-of-fact tone raised his ire but he realised that alienating Remus' case-worker would be a very bad move. Even as his brain tucked away the self-hate and melancholy comment for later evaluation, he asked, "Is that a bad thing?"

She tilted her head to the side. "It can be."

The folder snapped closed and she set it on her desk, beside a paperweight made of what Harry suspected were pixie skulls.

"You have never owned a werewolf before, correct?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, it's a big responsibility but not one you should be afraid of. The bond will do a lot of the work for you and you just have to let him know who's boss. Do you have his papers signed?"

He handed the papers over and she duplicated them with a flick of her wand. One copy went into her own folder, and she slid the other into a different, blue file.

"The main thing to remember is that you shouldn't be afraid of him. You can order him to do absolutely anything and he will have to do it, within physical and magical limits of course. The bond also works from intent, so unless he truly believes that he is allowed to take an action, he cannot exploit loopholes in your instructions like house-elves might."

Harry glowered at the reminder of his godfather's death and the witch, taking the expression the wrong way, almost beamed with approval.

"By law, you are responsible for containing him during full moons. If he bites a human you will be charged with negligence and he may be executed, depending on the circumstances." She peered over the top of her glasses at him, stern and forbidding. "This one in particular has been reported as savage."

"I understand. I'll make sure he's secure."

"Paperwork filed by the late Mr Black indicates that facilities exist within your home for that purpose."

Harry frowned. "I don't know anything about the measures Sirius had in place. Lupin?" He forced himself to inject some sharpness into his tone, insides squirming.

"There is a cell in the dungeons that Master Sirius werewolf-proofed, sir."

The witch marked this information down. "You will, of course, need to recheck the wards. Some magic weakens upon the death of the caster and Mr Black was famously reckless about such things. The spells are all detailed in this."

She pulled out a hefty tome, seemingly from thin air, and levitated it across the table. The leather cover felt grainy and ancient beneath Harry's fingers.

"This is the Werewolf Owner's Manual. It's restricted material and only you are allowed to read it. It includes essential safety information and an explanation of the enslavement bond's intricacies, as well as a detailed guide of etiquette and customs, some of which you are required to adhere to by law. I suggest you peruse it thoroughly."

Harry gaped at the massive volume. "Surely there aren't that many rules?"

"Most of them are merely guidelines," she said kindly. "The most important part for maintaining a balanced bond is that the werewolf can never forget that it is _owned_. That is why you _must_ assign regular chores, and most of the customs arise from that need to treat them appropriately. The simple things, like them needing permission to sit in your presence, are usually well ingrained in them, and you shouldn't have many problems."

Harry gulped. "Right."

She gave him a measuring look. "This makes you uncomfortable."

"I didn't know anything about...well, I didn't know anything about this until last night," he admitted.

"There's no shame in that. Even within the oldest pureblood families, the truth is very carefully guarded. As I recall, Sirius Black did not know until he came of age. You will become accustomed to it soon enough."

He couldn't find a reply, and simply nodded.

"There's not even much more that I need to tell you," she reassured. "Everything is set out in the book for you to reference when you need it, and you can always ask Remus to clarify anything. He's been a werewolf for more than thirty two years, and he knows how to behave properly, and what is expected of him." Her voice rose sharply towards the end of her speech, and it was half-directed over Harry's shoulder, as a warning. "That said, if he does anything you disapprove of, you will need to punish him appropriately because the binding magic will continue to cause physical and emotional discomfort until you do so.

Shooting a look over his shoulder in time to see Remus cringe, Harry struggled to find a response.

"Like with house-elves?" he ventured.

"Exactly. Except they can't punish themselves- they need us to do it. The manual explains in great detail."

This just got better and better. Last night he had thought Remus' passive attitude originated from shock and grief but it was quickly becoming clear that the werewolf was utterly and irrevocably ensnared. The quiet welcome at breakfast this morning flashed across his mind. No wonder he had seemed so subdued.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he blurted out.

The werewolf shifted nervously and stared down at his feet. "I was embarrassed."

The Ministry worker tutted.

"Anything else you'd like to share?" Harry said, sarcastically.

"I have allergies to lemons and oranges," Remus said, promptly. One of Harry's eyebrows twitched. "And Floo Powder. Sir."

Madam Newton chuckled darkly. "They can't help but answer questions fully. The binding pushes them to be completely candid."

Remus was blushing now, Harry noted and decided he wanted this interview to end as soon as possible.

"That _is_ an important point though," the witch continued. "The Floo powder allergy is common to all werewolves- part of the curse- and it's very serious. There's information in the book about warding your Floo powder so there aren't any accidents. But think yourself warned, Mr Potter, that ingestion may very well be fatal."

"I'll bear that in mind. What sort of medical treatment is available if he has a reaction like that?"

"Ministry advice is to just let the reaction run it's course. The strong ones pull through."

He struggled to keep his temper in check. "And if I want to treat it instead?"

"A standard anti-allergy potion would do the trick, if you can find a Healer willing to treat werewolves. There's a short list of names in the manual, though I doubt you'll want to show your face in Knockturn Alley any time soon."

"St Mungos treat werewolves," Harry said, confused. "There was one on the same ward as my friend's father last Christmas."

The woman sniffed. "Yes, well, freshly bitten ones are the exception. Before their relatives can be properly obliviated and they're taken into custody, you understand. After that, you couldn't pay any St Mungos Healer enough to treat a wolf."

Harry tried not to think about Ministry workers modifying memories so they could force people into slavery. A chill spread through his veins at her matter-of-fact tone, and he could not help but wonder how many newly-turned werewolves, how many _people_, she had dealt with over the course of her career. He remembered Remus' nerves outside the waiting room, and suspected that there had probably been good reason for them.

He was starting to get thoroughly frustrated with all the horrible revelations about the Ministry's mode of operation. All the connections being made in his mind hinted at a decidedly grim picture of Remus' life so far, and Merlin knew how many other werewolves there were in Britain.

She slid the blue folder over the surface of her desk.

"This is your copy of his records. His ownership papers, wand permit and N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. certificates are all included, amongst other things. It's layered with anti-werewolf wards as well, so he can't get into them."

"Thank you."

"We'd appreciate it if you would return your late godfather's copies to us if you find them."

"I will. Is there anything else I need to know?"

"I've given you the most important details," she said. "There's also a few small items to return to you, that we confiscated from the wolf when we assumed temporary custody."

"The mirror!" Harry realised.

She smiled at his sudden enthusiasm and handed over a small bag. "There's a collection of sobering potions in there as well."

A frown line creased his forehead, but he decided now was not the time to ask.

"And that's all," she announced. "Do you have any questions?"

There was one thing he really wanted to know, but he hesitated, remembering the effect of Ron's words last night- before Dumbledore had been so efficient with his obliviation. He couldn't ask here, not unless...

"Go and stand in the waiting room, Remus," he said, and then waited until the door clicked closed. "What do I need to do to file an official will with the Ministry?"

He thought he read approval behind her smile.

"You need to go to Gringotts and tell the goblins that you wish to draw up a will. If you want to bequeath Remus to someone, it needs to be tied to your magical signature before you seal it, and then Gringotts will file it here for you."

"Thank you."

He rose to his feet and she stepped out from behind her desk, to accompany him to the door. Leaving the oppressive old-fashioned office was a relief, and even the potted Wolfsbane flowers looked prettier in comparison to dark mahogany and dusty shelves. Remus stood awkwardly in the middle of the waiting room, as far away from the metallic chairs and wall decorations as he could get.

Madam Newton continued her brisk strides towards the exit, and Remus silently fell in behind Harry.

She paused in the doorway.

"Keeping werewolves is an ancient and time honoured tradition. Your godfather showed great faith and respect for you by allowing you to take on his werewolf."

She spoke as if Remus wasn't even there. Harry forced a smile. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Not at all, Mr Black. We're always happy to help."

The door closed and they suddenly found themselves alone in the corridor.

"Lupin?" Harry said, dazed.

"It's not safe to talk here, sir," he muttered.

The teenager flinched at the honorific, and was about to protest when a door swung open further up the corridor and a wizard wrapped in a fluorescent pink python stumbled out, and ambled past them. Remus had to jump out of the way to avoid being bowled into. They watched him disappear and only after the snake's tail flicked around the corner did they speak again.

"Let's get out of here," Harry muttered.

He couldn't leave the characterless corridors quickly enough. As soon as the lift doors opened, he crammed in beside the bored-looking office workers, muttering an apology as his elbow caught a stuffy looking clerk in the stomach.

The crowd in the atrium had dispersed, leaving the exits clear when the lift finally released them onto the ground floor. Harry took off towards the phone booth and Remus felt every single one of his years as he forced his complaining muscles to keep up. Too busy thinking about the residual pain from his last transformation, and worrying over the half-healed gash on his side, he did not notice the preoccupied witch on a collision course until he slammed into her.

A book fell to the ground with a thud.

"I'm sorry!" he said, appalled at himself, heart lurching.

The blur of purple robes jumped back, and he found himself staring at a startled journalist.

"Not at all. I should have been paying more attention," Katarina Walker smiled, straightening her hat with a gloved hand. Her sharp eyes took in his scarred face and shabby attire, before spotting the badge on his lapel. She gasped and stepped back.

"Look, I'm really sorry," he said, almost pleading. "I would never, I mean, I didn't mean to bump into you."

"Chill out, Lupin. She knows it wasn't on purpose."

"Mr Potter," she greeted, relieved.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Walker. I've heard good things about your reporting." _As of this morning._

There was nothing of Rita Skeeter in the smile which lit up her face. A genuine warmth shone from her soft blue eyes.

"It's kind of you to say so, Mr Potter. A lot of wizards seem to think that's I'm a demon personified."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you choose to expose all their dark secrets, universal popularity isn't very achievable."

"The public deserves to know about corruption and hypocrisy in the Ministry," she defended. "It's not personal. I'm not Rita."

"I think it's brilliant," Harry smiled. "We need reporters with integrity, who don't just swallow the Ministry's propaganda."

She obviously didn't know how to respond to such glowing praise, and the beginnings of a blush tinged her cheeks.

The conversation fell into an awkward lull and Harry rushed to fill the silence.

"This is a friend of my father, Remus Lupin."

Her previous apprehension turned quickly into curiosity.

"You're the werewolf that taught at Hogwarts two years ago."

He smiled wryly.

"That's me. The one that _didn't_ eat children."

"Teaching certainly didn't improve your sense of humour," Harry commented.

"My sense of humour is far superior to yours. At least I don't find the comic strips in the Quibbler hilarious."

"It was a good joke! Though, I'm not entirely sure that was meant to be funny. Knowing Luna, it was a factual representation of her world view."

"Well, there you go then. You are obviously insane."

Walker looked absolutely flummoxed. She stared between the two of them and decided to discount the last part of the conversation.

"Em...You knew James Potter?"

"He was one of my best friends at school. You get to know people really well when you share a dorm with them for seven years." Remus scrutinised her mixed expression as she processed the news that a Dark Creature had been a dorm mate of the legendary Light Wizard.

"What are you doing now that you've left Hogwarts?"

His smile turned decidedly grim. "I'm jobless as always. Madam Umbridge's restrictions had the desired effect."

"The new werewolf legislation wasn't aimed at increasing unemployment amongst your kind," she said, confused. "The aim was to raise awareness of lycanthropy and increase public safety."

"By publishing the Werewolf Register and ensuring that no one will possibly hire us," Lupin countered. "It wasn't about public safety. Why would that make any difference during full moons? It was an act of discrimination."

"I really don't think we should be having this conversation here," Harry muttered.

"I'm sorry," Remus apologised to the startled journalist. "That was hardly an appropriate topic of conversation. You won't report me to the DRCMC, will you?"

"Why would the DRCMC...? No, of course not."

"We should really be going," Harry interjected. "It was nice meeting you."

"And you, Mr Potter."

They left the reporter standing in the middle of the atrium with her dropped notebook abandoned at her feet.


	6. Chapter 6: The Love Potion

Chapter Six- The Love Potion

The street was deserted when they stumbled out of the phone box, turning their backs on the peeling red paint. The squalid side street echoed with the sounds of London traffic. Harry glanced around, hand going to his wand, and relaxed when he saw the coast was clear.

"What was that about?" he blurted out. "Why did that woman call me Mr Black?"

"You're Head of House Black, so you're entitled to use the surname now. You'll probably get off with not using it if you want, because you're Harry Potter."

"And I wouldn't usually?"

"The Black family is the oldest in Britain, with a long history of power and nobility. No one would understand wanting to use your own name."

Harry might have been imagining it, but something that sounded strangely like pride lay underneath these words. Why would Lupin be _proud_ of the family? He shook off the notion. That was insane. If Sirius had hated his pureblood, Death Eater family, there was no way that Lupin would feel any differently, and Harry was starting to connect the dots now about what lycanthropy really meant. As a family of such ancient lineage, the Blacks were obviously an integral part of the wizarding elite, and must have supported the system for many generations. Those who, like Andromeda Tonks, grew up knowing everything that had been explained round the Burrow's kitchen table. It made Harry nauseous to know that he could take their name for his own.

"Who actually _are_ the members of the House?" he questioned.

"The main lines include you, Andromeda Tonks, Dora, Narcissa Malfoy and her son Draco, and Bellatrix Lestrange. Spouses are traditionally extended a hand of kinship, so Ted Tonks, Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange count as family, but are not members by blood. Most other houses are related by blood or marriage, but none closely enough to count."

The mental image of a family Christmas dinner drifted into Harry's head from nowhere.

He shook the thought off. He didn't know what had got into him. Death Eaters could be swooping down on their location as he daydreamed like a Hufflepuff.

"We should head straight home. It feels too exposed wandering about in public now."

"Mad-Eye would be proud," Remus smiled.

Harry snorted. "Constant vigilance!"

The werewolf's smile dimmed suddenly and he cast a quick glance back at the phone booth from which they had both emerged.

"May I ask you something?"

Harry's heart leapt to his mouth. Surely there couldn't be even more bad news.

"May I drop by the Burrow for a while? They're probably wondering how you got on, and I can try and find out more about Emmeline?"

Harry swallowed. Remus was avoiding his eye and he could not help but recognise the same look he often gave Uncle Vernon upon confrontation- a mixture of unease and uncertainty, tinged with shame.

"Sure. I'll just be sitting around reading Ministry propaganda and fuming in silence. Will you take me back home first?"

"You could try and organise a learner's license and I can teach you to apparate," Remus said, as he stepped over a broken bottle to take Harry's arm.

"I thought you had to be seventeen to learn?"

"You're legally an adult now. You can do as you like."

"Great," Harry said, half-heartedly.

The sensation of Side-Along Apparation was as unpleasant as ever, though he managed to fight the urge to gag, as they landed precisely in the centre of the top step before Grimmauld Place. Harry didn't even lose his balance this time, though the sensation was still stomach curdling.

The door's fresh paint glistened and the knocker gleamed with new polish. The rest of the house still seemed to be crumbling on its foundations, but somehow the gloominess had dissipated. The exterior actually looked clean and Harry could now tell that the underlying brick was a rusty red, rather than coal black. It reminded him of an old report about No. 10 Downing Street that a teacher had inflicted upon his class at primary school as reading practice.

"Well, I suppose I'll be off then," Lupin said, more than a little awkwardly.

Harry started as his thoughts were broken, and realised that Lupin had stepped away and down onto the pavement. Was that still within the boundaries of the Fidelius?

"Hang on a minute." He fumbled around in his pockets and produced the two way mirror. "Take this. It's a good idea to have a way to keep in contact with each other."

The glass was cool under Remus' calloused fingers. There was a small chip on one of the edges which had not been there the month before.

"Thank you. I'll make sure I'm back before dinnertime."

"You don't need to rush," Harry said. "I'll be fine by myself."

The werewolf received a sad smile, before Harry pushed open the door and disappeared into the house's dark interior. With the click of a lock falling closed, Remus was left alone in the cool summer air. He stood for a moment, inhaling the exhaust fumes of London traffic and listening absently to the sirens wailing in the distance, before he turned on the spot and left Grimmauld Place behind.

Sun shone on the slanting roof of the Burrow, slipping off mismatched tiles and thatch and falling to the ground in a pool of blazing gold. Chickens pecked around in the dirt. Twice upon crossing the garden he almost tripped over the feathered hazards but he made it to the house with all bones intact. He paused on the step to gather himself together and put on the cheery front that had worked so well for him over the years.

"Good morning, Molly," he greeted, sticking his head round the door. "Is this a bad time?"

She looked to be in the middle of a whispered conversation with Ginny. She jumped at the sight of him, before dousing the fire under her cauldron and sweeping towards him. The smell of deception clung to her. What was she hiding? Trying to catch the smell of the potion discreetly, he picked out three layers of scents- beef stew, parchment and the distinct smell of his favourite cousin. Shock jolted through him as he realised what Mrs Weasley was brewing- unmistakeably amortentia.

Only years of lying about his lycanthropy gave him the skill to hide his shock. He mumbled false pleasantries as she tried to pretend that the will reading had never happened. The world's most powerful love potion- and Ginny was involved. In his mind, there could only be one target.

He thought back to the previous summer, hiding out in Grimmauld Place, even as he sat down at the table and asked Ginny about her injuries from the Department of Mysteries. He didn't remember much of the children's interactions with each other- he had been so focused on Sirius. Sirius and his severe malnourishment, melancholy and burgeoning drink problem. Sirius demanding so much of his time and obedience after thirteen years of isolation and semi-independence. He remembered Ginny giggling with Tonks a lot but not much else. The girl seemed quiet and unobtrusive, though her crush on Harry had been common knowledge since he taught at Hogwarts.

"How did the meeting go at the Ministry?" Ginny asked before her mum could shush her.

So much for quiet and unobtrusive. What was he meant to say? That the whole thing was excruciatingly humiliating and brought back a lifetime's worth of unpleasant memories?

"Harry learned a lot. He's back at home reading a big stack of informational literature."

Molly didn't let her daughter pry any further, sending her to fetch laundry from Ron's room.

"Don't mind Ginny, dear. She's too curious for her own good. I can't imagine where she gets it from."

He scoffed internally.

"It's alright. I'd be surprised if she wasn't curious."

For a long moment, she simply looked at him, as if trying to reconcile his pleasant expression with the hard truth she had so recently learned. It felt almost like Dumbledore's trademarked blue stares, as though everything about him was being analysed. Then she shook her head, and her expression mellowed into a smile that he could smell was genuine, if a little uneasy.

"It's nice of you to visit. The twins stayed over last night- today's their day off- and it's lovely to have them and Bill back at home."

The change of topic at breakneck speed left his head spinning, but he nodded along agreeably. If she wanted to pretend she didn't know, that was fine by him.

"It must have been hard for you to see the twins move out."

"They are so young! But they are proving to have quite the minds for business. I must admit that I was skeptical at first."

"I remember the Great Purge of the Extendable Ears last summer," he teased.

"Albus is talking about equipping all of the Order with them now," she frowned vaguely.

"Well, I found them useful," he grinned. "I'm surprised you haven't been using them to find out what mischief the twins are up to."

It was difficult to hide his mirth at the shocked witch, who had obviously never considered turning the tricks back on their makers. His time at Hogwarts had been rife with such goings-on, and he clearly remembered Sirius practicing some rather nasty hexes of Severus' own invention on the Slytherin.

He shoved the thoughts of Sirius and happier times to the back of his mind. His expression sobered, and he reminded himself that there was an actual reason for his visit.

"Did you hear about Emmeline?"

"Yes, yes. Nasty business. Poor girl was still here when she felt the wards drop. Lucky there was no one in the house. Can you imagine if she'd had family?"

He winced.

"She's going to be staying here from now on. Those were the best wards she could afford, even on a Healer's salary, and they couldn't keep the Death Eaters out, but Dumbledore's set everything up here for Harry and we're basically Order Headquarters now, so..."

"I didn't know you'd been using the Burrow," he frowned.

"Dumbledore didn't know who had inherited Grimmauld Place and it didn't seem secure when there was a chance that Lestrange witch was the rightful owner. Do you think Harry will let us use the house again?"

"I don't think so. Anyway, it probably holds too many bad memories for most people."

Her eyes narrowed. "I didn't think to ask, but are you still living there?"

He nodded.

"Really, Remus," she said, disapprovingly. "It's an unhealthy atmosphere in that old house."

"I can't exactly move out, can I?" He tried not to sound bitter about it. "I doubt the Dursleys would welcome a werewolf moving in with them- they barely tolerate Harry as it is."

Her expression was twisting into something sour, when a creak on the stairs made them look up. A sleep-tousled redhead spilled from the bottommost step.

"Hey Mum! Is lunch ready yet?" George asked, yawning. His hair stuck up at a strange angle and he wore a crumpled set of pyjamas. "Professor Lupin!"

As always, hearing the title sent a twinge of alarm shooting through his chest. He had felt entirely fraudulent every time he introduced himself or was referred to in that manner during his teaching stint.

"Please, call me Remus. I'm not your teacher any more."

A strange fleeting expression crossed his face, as the young man's surprise at the visit was replaced by something _else._

"I'm really sorry, sir," he said. "About everything you said last night..."

"Don't worry about it. I must admit though, I'm a bit excited about the chance to help you and Fred out with the shop. You _are_ going to recruit me for a project or two, I hope?"

"Of course!"

Remus knew that he hadn't really distracted the young man, but George let himself be drawn into a conversation about the latest product lines and current experiments. A couple of the plans he mentioned sounded intriguing and Remus couldn't help but see the merit in charmed clothing that could throw up shields when their wearer came under attack. Though he suspected that the ministry would want to regulate sales rather heavily. They wouldn't give just anyone the means to defend themselves without a wand.

When Mrs Weasley set a plate of chicken casserole down in front of George, Remus realised that lunch time was almost behind them.

"I'll let you get on," he said, rising from the table as Ginny and Fred wandered in and helped themselves to the food.

"You simply must stay for lunch. I can't bear to think of you eating alone in that awful old house."

"I'm not alone," he smiled. "Kreacher's still there."

She huffed. "That despicable little house elf is worse than no company at all."

"I wouldn't say that. He plays a mean game of strip poker."

Ginny choked loudly on her orange juice and the twins' mouths fell open. Molly pretended that she hadn't heard.

"Do stay the afternoon," she encouraged. "Fred and George are eager to talk to you, and Tonks is coming over after her shift ends, for some tea."

Her sons nodded behind her, but Remus was too busy trying to figure out the intent behind the last part of her statement. Why mention Tonks? At the moment, he was inclined to avoid every member of the Black family he could, including Sirius' clumsy little cousin. Why did Molly think he would want to stay and endure the encounter? Surely she could put two and two together and realise that Tonks could easily have been in Harry's place the night before, even without it being stated. The deduction wasn't difficult.

"I'd love to," he lied, "but I really should be heading home. Kreacher's in a strop and I wouldn't put it past him to go around poisoning the food, and sprinkling itching powder on the bedsheets, or something even fouler. I should keep an eye on him until he calms down. Some other time though."

She followed him to the door, worry trailing after her.

"Come back tomorrow!" she insisted.

Back in Grimmauld Place, Harry nursed a cup of tea and shifted on the hard bench at the kitchen table.

Turning to the next chapter in utter disgust, Harry fought to control his rising temper. Lines upon lines of prejudiced drivel, arcane rules and examples of blatant cruelty crammed each and every page of the massive tome. The restrictions on werewolves were detailed to the extreme, from household traditions to weighty legislation setting out exactly how proper pureblood wizards were expected to treat their slaves. Reaching a section detailing ways of training 'cubs', he felt his stomach churn. Setting down the dry instructions for child abuse, he considered the implications.

He could not begin to imagine how terrifying it must be to go through life as a werewolf. Even the simplest things, like being unable to defend yourself or seek help if someone raised a hand to you. Or having someone with the Dursley-ish power of being able to deny you food, without you having any way to flout those rules. Even the way Lupin had reacted to Dumbledore casually obliviating him the night before spoke volumes. Anyone else would have freaked out or retaliated in anger to having their memories stolen, of which Lupin had obviously been aware once the haze cleared. That in itself was odd. Harry had always heard that no one remembered the sensation of being obliviated.

His respect for Lupin rose as his train of thought wound on.

He paused early for lunch, fed up with trawling through the hefty volume, but even as he munched through the ham and cheese sandwiches which were waiting for him on the work top, his thoughts whirled.

A creak alerted him to the door opening.

"Hi," Lupin said. The shabby ex-professor looked almost shy, as he shuffled in and put the kettle on. The revelations from the Ministry book made Harry overly cautious as he returned the greeting. It was no surprise that Lupin was uncertain. Sirius had controlled almost every aspect of his life and now his fifteen year old godson had assumed the same position.

"How is everyone?" he asked.

"Surprisingly upbeat. Emmeline's staying at the Burrow, so she's behind the strongest wards Dumbledore could muster. They're using it as Headquarters now."

"Good. I would end up back at Privet Drive in an instant if the Order started nosying about and found out I'm here."

He watched Remus as he moved about the kitchen, bearing the book's contents in mind. Bitten as a small child, he must have been raised according to the principles in this guide. Did he grow up fearing humans, being moulded into perfect obedience? The images conjured bore little resemblance to the Hogwarts teacher and Order member Harry had come to know. The facade of freedom was important to protect the secret- that had been emphasised repeatedly. So, did he even know the real Remus Lupin? Had he met him at all? Was he really some broken slave pretending otherwise out of fear?

Harry couldn't see it. Sirius had been Remus' friend and schoolmate, a fellow Gryffindor. Gryffindor. That spoke volumes in itself- the home of the brave. Sirius wasn't someone to fear, so why wouldn't Remus have been himself around him?

Realising that he was staring a bit, Harry dumped his dishes in the sink and settled down in the armchair by the fire. He felt so awkward all of a sudden and he really didn't know what to say. He retreated behind his book.

Eventually, after cleaning up the work surfaces and polishing off the leftover ham, Remus pushed off from leaning against the counter and, steeling himself to continue to behave as normally as possible until Harry gave any indication that he should do otherwise, cast about for a subject with which to break the silence.

"How are you getting on?"

Harry made a noise of utmost disgust and threw the book down.

"This is horrible! How can you live like this?"

Grimacing, Remus took a seat and peeled off his outer robes. It really was too hot for them, despite the chill and fog pressing up against the windows. He sighed.

"I don't have any choice. I thought Madam Newton made that clear."

"But...all the stuff in here about punishments, and children and...everything!" Those emerald eyes flashed and he gestured wildly. "It's not right. It's downright abusive!"

"The bond needs to be kept in balance," Remus offered weakly.

"That only seems to mean that you can't forget you're a...a slave," Harry said. "You can't use that as justification."

Unsure whether he could respond to that, Remus chose the safest option and remained silent. He didn't think he could make Harry understand anyway. Keeping his status in mind meant _knowing_ that his owner had the right to treat him with all contempt.

"What about all the rules and things it has here? 'Etiquette', it says."

"I need to follow most of them but you can interpret them as you like. If there's something I know you wouldn't require, like...I suppose you wouldn't want me to call you 'master'? Well, I don't have to do that then. The important part is to always show you respect. But because I'm used to certain rules, I can't disregard many of them without feeling like I am being disrespectful, and upsetting the bond. It was designed so you can't give me too much freedom, and it works on our expectations."

"So, you need to..." Harry flicked through the book to pick a random example. "Ask permission every time you want to leave the house?"

The wizard's concern made Remus' insides knot with guilt. This was so much to spring on him, especially after losing his godfather, and he was Muggle-raised after all.

"Yes. If you refused I wouldn't be able to go beyond the bottom step."

Harry looked queasy.

"It's fine," Remus reassured. "I'm used to it. It doesn't matter."

"But it does."

"You can give me permission to go out in advance. It's not a big inconvenience."

"It's not inconvenience I'm worried about!"

The anger in the wizard's voice took Remus aback and he was unpleasantly reminded of Sirius' short temper.

"Harry, please. I don't have any choice. Feeling bad about it just makes it harder."

Harry looked chastened. "Sorry."

"You don't need to apologise to me."

"But I want to."

They shared a small smile and Remus felt a surge of hope and optimism at the words. Hopefully he wasn't about to spoil it with his next confession. Much as he wanted to keep his discovery secret, his days of hiding things from Harry were over and if anything came from Molly's scheming, he would be in a very nasty spot of bother.

"There's something else I need to tell you, that's not about the bond or the Ministry."

His words were weighed down with dread.

"First off, I need to remind you that I can't lie to you," he said slowly, trying to gauge Harry's reaction.

"I know that."

"You aren't going to like what I've got to tell you, but I swear it's the truth."

Harry's eyebrows knitted together. "There's no point dancing around the subject, Lupin. Whatever it is, just tell me."

The bond nudged him into speaking and, before he could even try to choose his words, the whole story spilled out. When he had finished, they both lapsed into silence. He could see the cogs turning as Harry thought it over.

"Is there any chance you could be mistaken?"

"I know amortentia when I smell it."

Harry shot him a strange look, but thought better than to ask.

"It might not be...I mean, the Order could need it or something."

"Why would the Order need a full cauldron of the world's strongest love potion? And, if they did, why wouldn't they ask Severus to brew it?"

"Maybe Dumbledore doesn't trust him as much as he says he does."

Remus frowned but said nothing in reply. He didn't think Harry would appreciate him coming to the Potion Master's defence, and it would probably count as contradicting the wizard anyway.

"There could be another explanation. I can't believe Ginny would do that."

Remus didn't like to believe it either. He had, he was surprised to realize, thought better of the Weasleys. Where was his usual distrust and suspicion? Had the Order members so easily pulled down his defences, with only their kind words and tentative friendship? He shouldn't be so shocked at some humans resorting to dubious means to acheive their ends- that was what humans did best, after all.

"Mad Eye would say "Constant Vigilance"."

"And hex me if I so much as thought of accepting food from Mrs Weasley," Harry added miserably. "I just can't believe that she would do something like that."

"There might be another explanation," Remus said. He didn't believe he was wrong, but it wasn't a lie to say he might have misinterpreted the situation. He actually wanted to believe it. Molly may have felt as much prejudice towards him as young Ron on their first meeting at Grimmauld Place, but her attitude towards him had mellowed markedly over the weeks of that long summer, and in the year since she had finally realised that he was no danger to her or her children. Even as she tore his kitchen apart, he had grown increasingly fond of her mothering ways. It was a strange quality to find directed at him from a human.

Harry shrugged, "Thanks for telling me, anyway."

"Thank you for taking it so well," Remus replied.

Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if to compose himself, and then leaned forwards in his chair.

"Now, there's something important that I need to talk to _you_ about." He gestured at the closed book on the edge of the seat, and noticed that Remus instantly tensed. "It's not anything to worry about, it's just I need to know...well, what's this about dungeons?"

"They aren't really dungeons. It's the basement level downstairs. Sirius decided one of the larger storerooms would do for my transformations."

Harry must have caught something in his tone.

"Is there something wrong with it?"

Remus shrugged. "It's fine, really. It's just a bit cramped after the Shrieking Shack."

Words could not describe how difficult the moons were, trapped between the wards, with nothing to damage but his own flesh.

"I wish I could run free during the moon," he added to himself, too quiet for Harry's ears. He had known some werewolves who transformed confined within warded woods or fields, and they had had a much easier time of it. The Ministry disapproved, of course. They thought wards were more secure when combined with stone walls and silver padlocks.

"Will you show me?" Harry asked.

"Now?"

It was a stupid question really, and he was already rising to his feet to comply. He noticed Harry kept a firm grip on the Ministry manual as he followed him into the hall, and he felt a lump form in his throat at the sight. He berated himself for his unease. He could trust Harry. He knew that. He did.

A murky tapestry of two dragons hid the entrance, tucked in at the dead end beyond the kitchen. Lupin opened the shabby wooden door with a whispered alohamora and it screeched open. Stairs descended into the dark. He paused, loath to go down.

"You don't have to come down," Harry said, spotting his reluctance. "I can go myself."

"I'm being stupid. Of course I'll show you."

He forced himself down the creaking wooden steps and waited at the bottom for Harry. They both lit their wands as the door swung closed.

"The door is spelled so that I can't open it from the inside," Remus commented, trying not to feel too anxious about it. Harry wouldn't leave him alone in the dark. Not without an imminent full moon.

The light from his wand was stronger now that the new bond had settled, he noted, and the illumination was more than enough for him to navigate by. He knew his eyes would have picked up the light and reflected it like a mirror, and hoped that Harry wouldn't freak out as soon as he saw it. Without glamour charms, which were disallowed on Ministry property, he looked just like any other werewolf. Freakish and inhuman. He wondered if reapplying the charms surreptitiously would count as attempted deceit, and decided that it probably would.

To Harry's credit, his scent only spiked with alarm for a moment, and then he seemed to take it in his stride.

"It would probably be best to watch your step here," Remus said, as he edged into the narrow, claustrophobic space.

Old cardboard boxes lay in their path, spewing tattered Slytherin scarves, worn robes and ancient old textbooks onto smooth flagstones. A cracked broom almost tripped Harry. Heavy wooden doors hung open on either side, hinting at pitch black spaces beyond, but Remus contined to kick his way through the jumble to the seventh such door. Farthest from the staircase, it was the only closed door. It opened on screaming hinges, and Remus held up his wand.

The room was windowless and empty. A strange sterile smell wafted out to meet them. Harry squeezed past the werewolf, who seemed to have frozen in place, and stepped through the entrance.

The stones on the floor were marred with long claw marks that sent shivers down his spine, though the walls were strangely untouched. The edges of the gouges scraped against the soles of his shoes and he tried not to think about the strength required to damage solid rock like that. He stretched out his arms to either side, his fingertips just brushing the walls at full reach. The space hardly seemed big enough for the werewolf Harry had glimpsed back on that night at the end of his third year.

He looked back to Remus. "A bit cramped?"

That could almost have been a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. It was hard to tell, with his eyes still glowing like some sort of demon. Like a wolf, Harry reminded himself.

"Right," Harry said, finally. "Let's check out the wards."

He took a moment to find the right chapter again, and skimmed through the information. He really hoped the wards were fine. The diagrams for recasting them looked very complicated.

"According to the book, the first test is to see whether you can open the door from the inside."

"I can't. The inside handle is silver, even if the spells haven't held. They _have_ held, though. I can't touch the door."

"Okay then." Harry's face was grim. "It says the magic of the wards should also be layered through the walls. Surely you couldn't knock down a solid wall?"

"Without the wards, I could probably break through the stonework where it's weakest, near the door. All it would take is one loose brick." Shame was clear in his voice this time.

"You're really that strong?"

"Have you ever heard people say that madmen sometimes have supernatural strength?"

"You're not a madman," Harry frowned, distracted by something on the book's crisp pages.

Lupin didn't contradict him, just watched the tip of his wand as it illuminated lines in the book that he wasn't allowed to read. He found his eyes sliding away every time he started to look too closely, though he wasn't deliberately trying to read those mysterious pages. He had no desire to push Harry into needing to discipline him. He only hoped he could stop himself from doing anything wrong accidentally, for as long as possible. The normally humiliating experience was something he did not want James' son to be in any way witness or party to, though eventually...

"Do the wards hurt you?"

Sirius had never thought to ask that question, Remus noted, even as he threw the spells up with all the arrogance of a Black. He had never put together the reason Remus balked at entering the narrow cell- narrower for him than it seemed to a wizard.

"They would if I touched them. I can sense them to an extent though, and I know to keep away from them."

"You can sense them now? When you aren't transformed?"

"It makes my skin crawl. It feels like the wards are...humming, almost, but it's deep down in my bones, below the edge of hearing. I can't really explain it. They burn like silver if I touch them."

Silver _burned_ werewolves? Academically, Harry knew that silver was unsafe, but he had never thought about what effect it would actually wreak. Now he came to think about it, how could they handle money? Sickles were made of silver. Though, he supposed that most of them didn't have much opportunity to use money.

"Do you think they are strong enough?"

"I don't think they've weakened. I think it's safe."

Over the next few days, they settled into an uneasy form of routine. Both felt like they were walking on eggshells, though neither of them knew how to address their disquiet. Harry worked on his summer homework and tore through the Ministry information, anger giving way to sorrow as the sordid details piled up. He tried not to notice the way Lupin hesitated sometimes before speaking to him, or stood up when he walked into a room, or always waited for Harry to pick up his cutlery before the werewolf himself began to eat. He spotted more and more of these small actions as his reading progressed. Even simple phrases Lupin used in speech hinted at the dark truth. How could Harry not have noticed before? Where Molly Weasley would summon her brood with a yell, the werewolf would knock quietly on the door of whichever room Harry was occupying, and announce that dinner was ready if Harry cared to eat just then. He was careful never to address Harry in a way that could be taken as a command, or demand.

Every evening, he would ask permission to leave for the Burrow, and every night Harry would sit in the kitchen, waiting for his safe return. The room sparkled with cleanliness, and the few candles bathed the table in a warm glow, but it felt dark and cold with only Harry's presence. The Order had used the kitchen as their hub of activity, and now Lupin could almost always be found there, engaged in a myriad of small tasks and humming along to the wireless.

"It's not WWN," he had explained, when Harry remarked on the strangeness of the music. "It's a private station called the Mystic Circle. A coven of hags up Stonehenge way have been running it for decades."

"I've never heard of it."

"Wizards and witches don't listen to it. Hags aren't very popular, and they are quite racist against humans."

"Racist against _humans_?"

Lupin laughed at Harry's dumbfounded expression. "Most of the community of Magical Beings don't have much reason to feel kindly towards your species, Harry. If someone receives only hate and suspicion, they are going to learn to give the same in return."

"What about you?" Harry asked, wrapping his arms tightly round himself. "Do you hate humans then?"

The silence was long enough to make him worry.

"I don't hate _all_ humans."

Something in his tone prevented Harry from enquiring further.

Alone at night, he turned on the wireless to fill the silence. From the discussions among the hags, who sounded perfectly normal to him, Harry learned more about wizard relations with Beings than he had during his full five years at Hogwarts. Not that the programmes were overtly political, but it was hard to miss the slight emphasis in the hags' speech every time the words "witch", "wizard", "human" or "Ministry of Magic" were mentioned. The radio dramas that played several times each day were filled with tales of cunning goblins, courageous Veela, vampire family feuds and wise old dragons. If a human appeared, they were usually cast as a mixture of villain and fool.

On the Thursday afternoon, the day before Harry was due to move in with the Weasleys, Remus confided that half the werewolves in Britain were hooked on a comedy sketch called "Wilbert the Warlock".

"It's about a wizard who thinks he's a warlock, even though he can barely light a candle," he smiled, as he sifted through a pile of decaying Daily Prophets.

"So, it's a chance to poke fun at wizards?" Harry said, shrewdly.

Remus admitted, a bit sheepishly, "Wilbert used to be much more powerful, until the Ministry threatened to close the station down. The only way they got off with it was to turn his character into an almost-squib."

"Media censorship. Lovely. Don't you just love the wizarding world?"

"Not particularly," Remus said, a grim note creeping in.

Their conversation lapsed into awkward silence, as had so many of their recent ones.

That evening, Harry was curled up in an armchair beside the kitchen fire, reading the one of the defensive magic books that had been a Christmas present from his godfather, when Hedwig swooped in and landed on his shoulder. A letter was tied to her leg and she preened proudly at the successful delivery. Hermione's writing curled across a flimsy Muggle envelope. He tore it open with ease and unfolded the lined notepaper.

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you? I hope you are alright. I was glad to see you looking so much better on Monday, after everything that happened towards the end of term. I really can't believe that what Professor Lupin told us the other night is true. I went to Flourish and Blotts and found an obscure book on ancient binding magic. I'm not sure how much it might help- I'm sure that Professor Lupin has a lot more he can tell us. I feel so upset and angry just thinking about it. I've no idea how he has managed to keep it hidden all these years. I just hope there is something we can do to help, though after thousands of years it seems rather unlikely that there is a solution, doesn't it?_

_I can't even imagine how he must feel, being trapped by his own biology like that. I really am crying, thinking about it. I hadn't considered it at the time, but there must be lots of others in the same position, don't you think? What must their lives be like?_

_Mum and Dad gave me permission to stay at the Burrow for the rest of the summer, and I got here this afternoon, so I'll see you soon, and we can have that chat you promised me._

_Love from Hermione_

The thought of Hermione being so upset shouldn't have surprised him, he realised. He knew how vocal she was about house-elves, and to be honest he was still quite shaken up himself. She didn't know the half of it. It surprised him to realise that all of her questions had related to the subject though. He had expected her to be as fixated on a very different topic as she had been in the last two weeks of the school year.

He_ did_ have something else he to concern himself with.

Back before the will reading, before he had become so swept up in worry about his new responsibilities towards his father's old friend, other thoughts of the future had haunted his dreams and waking moments. The half-whispered words of a prophecy seventeen years old touched the edge of his conscious thought even now. _The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches..._

Somehow over the past few days his perspective has changed. Where before he had felt trapped by those words, now he felt somewhat reassured. At least he had a chance, a chance of surviving that he would never have guessed at after witnessing Voldemort's immense power. The duel with Dumbledore had been eye opening and Harry knew that he could never match that.

He was so deep in thought, he didn't hear the footsteps across the wooden floor until they had stopped.

"It's time for me to make my appearance at the Burrow," Remus said. "Do you need anything else before I go?"

"I'm fine," he replied, weighing the letter in his hands. "Watch out for Hermione when you get there, though. She's likely to be on some sort of crusade for Creature Rights."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, I know. She's really upset for you, and she goes a bit overboard sometimes, so..."

"Thanks for the warning."

With a flick of his wand, the werewolf turned off the wireless and set a heating charm over the tea pot.

"Hopefully I'll be able to get away from Molly's clutches sometime before your birthday," he smiled.

"I wouldn't count on it."

As soon as enough time had passed for Lupin to leave the wards, Harry turned the radio back on.


	7. Chapter 7: Angry Acts

Chapter Seven- Angry Acts

"Remus, you're right on time. The roast is about to come out of the oven."

The smell of chicken permeated the air, making his mouth water. Thankfully, no one but him could hear his stomach rumble. He took a seat at the table, next to Bill, and kept an eye on the stranger across from them, who was setting down her cup and moving to rise.

"I'll see you later, Molly," the witch said. "Thanks for the tea and the sympathy."

"It's no bother, Tonks," Mrs Weasley assured. "Do take care of yourself."

Remus only just held back a gasp. This was _Tonks_? He could barely believe it. The difference in her was startling. Her wan brown hair fell limp around her too-pale face and the scent of misery radiated from her. She stumbled on her way to the door but did not stop to make a joke of her clumsiness, as she usually would.

He heard the faint pop of her apparation when she reached the designated point on the path.

Molly shook her head sadly. "Poor girl."

Despite his feelings towards most of the Black family members, he could not help but feel a measure of concern for her. Tonks had always seemed friendly enough in the past.

"What's wrong with her?"

Molly blushed scarlet. "Bill, if you would tell the kids to come down."

The curse-breaker sent him an apologetic look for his mother's rudeness but hauled himself to his feet. Fleur passed Bill in the doorway and they exchanged some knowing smiles. She looked more radiant than ever, with her blonde hair sleek and gathered back in an elegant bun, and smart tailored robes flowing down to he floor. Her appearance spoke Old Money, but Remus could detect her smiling amiability even amongst the strangely foreign scent that proclaimed her Veela heritage. She glided into the room and sat down with grace in Bill's vacated seat.

"Fleur," he greeted. "Finally got some time off from work?"

"Eet 'as been awful." She shook his hand. "I'm sorry, Remus. I wrote to my grandmuzzer, and she told me all about ze werewolf curse. She said zat Britain 'as always 'ad some of ze worst restrictions of any government?"

"I'm sure you've noticed the anti-Creature attitude most wizards have. You must have met some prejudice for being part-Veela."

A shadow fell over her face. "I 'ave noticed such attitudes," she admitted. "And Madame Maxime faced many cruel insults last year."

"I've never met her," he admitted. "Is she really as well-thought of as Dumbledore, back in France?"

Fleur smiled proudly. "She eez a very powerful and talented witch. And 'eadmaster Dumbledore eez actually not quite so well thought of een France as 'e eez 'ere."

Mrs Weasley huffed indignantly and the French witch rolled her eyes.

"Really," Remus stated flatly. "Why would that be?"

Fleur's eyes widened in surprise. "You are not an admirer of ze 'eadmaster?"

"Of course Remus is on our side," Mrs Weasley said, incredulously.

"Of course I am," he echoed quietly, holding the young witch's gaze. Her confusion morphed into wary understanding.

He caught the scent of one of the people he had been dreading facing and lapsed into silence. The witch appeared at the top of the staircase and descended slowly, twisting round and round on the many uneven landings. His stomach had time to twist itself into knots. Fleur picked up on his unease and frowned, taking her seat. He had forgotten that her Veela heritage would make her more perceptive than the average human.

Hermione's slow descent ended as she turned the last bend in the staircase and spotted the gathering round the table. Remus tensed up when she stopped short at the sight of him.

"Oh, Professor Lupin. I'm so sorry," she said, teary-eyed. "How are you? Are you alright now?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Hermione."

Her tears made him choke up. He had never had someone be so upset over him before. James had mostly been angry and Severus had known as soon as he found out Remus was a werewolf, discussing it with quiet acceptance and the small pangs of guilt that had always seemed inexplicable. Sirius...well, he tried not to think about Sirius' reaction.

"Of course you're not alright!" she exclaimed, not noticing Fleur rolling her eyes.

The pace at which she began to jabber away was utterly bewildering, and he listened numbly to the words flowing past him.

"Leave the man in peace," Mrs Weasley admonished.

She turned away to tend to the food, and missed Hermione's scowl. The young witch threw herself into a chair. George shook his head.

"You really aren't helping Mum pretend the situation doesn't exist," he commented, wincing at the clanging of pots.

"Yeah, Hermione," Fred added. "Mum's desperately trying to forget about it."

Hermione glared. "Well, I think that's terrible! How can she just want to ignore this? This needs to be discussed, so we know whether we can change anything or not."

Her uncertainty leaked into her scent. She was obviously already aware that her hopes were likely baseless, and Remus felt a corresponding sense of relief. At least this strange spirit of activism would not last long.

He concentrated on Fler's growing scent of irritation and tried not to let his anger rise.

"It doesn't sound like there's anything you can do," Fred pointed out, "and if you're thinking of starting up all that SPEW nonsense again-"

"It's not nonsense. Just because you think house-elfs should be _enslaved_ doesn't make it right."

"But they like it," George maintained.

"That _is_ true," Remus chipped in, not able to resist seeing the look on Hermione's face. She didn't disappoint.

"How can you say that!" she erupted.

He tuned her out as her rant took off- it seemed to be directed more at the universe in general than him. He didn't need to listen to know why she was saying- the same old arguments that he had heard last summer. About bigotry, and rights, and campaigning. Wasted breath. Nothing would ever change.

When she started equating house-elves to werewolves, however, he felt he had to step in.

"Hermione, I'm deeply touched by your concern, but it's unneccessary. You should probably try to forget everything you heard the other night."

"What!?"

Mrs Weasley shot the Muggleborn witch a very dirty look as her voice rose to a tone of hysteria.

"Ron, shout Emmeline down, will you?"

He tramped up the stairs, sulky and muttering all the way. Remus frowned at the resentful mumurs which floated down to him. Something was not right with the youngest Weasley boy.

"Ron's jealous," Fred whispered, leaning closer. "Because Sirius left us so much, and gave a lot to Harry as well.

"But Sirius didn't even really know Ron. They barely had a single conversation last year."

George shrugged. "Try telling him that."

Remus didn't like the sound of this. What would this mean for Ron's friendship with Harry? He couldn't see Ron getting over this easily.

His mind was working so furiously that he didn't register Hermione stewing in silence, until Ron was once again in the kitchen.

"She's not there, Mum. She must have gone out."

"She didn't say she was working," Mrs Weasley fretted. "And there are Death Eaters after her."

"She can't stay hiding at home," Remus put in. "That would be letting them make her a prisoner."

No one could deny this.

With everyone now present, the food was served. The succulent smell of roast chicken was so enticing that Remus was hard pressed to wait until everyone else had picked up their cutlery. That piece of etiquette, he knew, would never become second nature.

Even Mrs Weasley's cooking could not distract Hermione from her dogged pursuit of the subject.

"We need to talk this out," she protested. "We can't just sweep it all under the rug."

"It's meant to be a secret," Remus said quietly.

"We all know now though," Ginny said. "Are we really meant to forget it?"

"It's best not to even mention it."

Hermione promptly burst out, "It's not healthy to just bottle things up!", and Remus lost his last bit of patience at her stubborness and ignorance.

"Please don't talk to me about what's healthy," he retaliated, throwing down his fork. "It's the least of my concerns. The only way you could possibly coerce me to 'talk things out' would be to get Harry to _make_ me. And I hope you realise that that would cause more problems than it would solve. I talked about it on Monday night because Sirius stated that I should. That does not mean that it's something that is open for gossip, discussion and speculation."

She gaped at him, while Fleur nodded.

"See?" she pressed, self-satisfied. She didn't see the death glare that Hermione shot at her.

"So we're meant to leave a whole species at the mercy of the Ministry? Or whatever pureblood wizards are in on the secret? To prop up a system of abuse?"

"Hermione, just leave it," he ground out.

"Just because you've been brainwashed into thinking it's normal-"

Fleur made a strangled noise of protest but it was nothing to Remus' reaction.

His eyes narrowed and his words dripped with malice.

"Don't you dare say that to me. You know nothing. Brainwashed? Is that what you think?"

"Why else would you be defending this?"

"If I'd been brainwashed, do you think I would be sitting here eating with you? I can show you brainwashed behaviour if you like."

Fleur swallowed. "Remus, don't-"

"No, it's alright. Do you think this is bad, Hermione? Do you think I should be upset to belong to Harry Potter?"

She gaped, seemingly unable to find words.

"There are worse wizards out there. Are you trying to get me to bad mouth Harry or something? Because it's not going to work. I thank the gods that Sirius chose Harry, and feeling any more ashamed, angry or hurt than I already am isn't going to help anyone or anything."

"Look, I...I'm sorry. Alright?" she said, actually smelling apologetic. "I didn't think..." She faltered under his harsh stare.

He forced himself to calm down as he realised that even Mrs Weasley was gawking at the scene.

"No, _I'm_ sorry," he offered eventually. "I shouldn't have snapped.

For the second time in less than a week, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry found himself on a boring Surrey street. His Muggle suit felt restrictive and overly warm as he strode along, side-stepping a child's hopscotch game chalked on the pavement and heading straight onwards to his destination. His eyes scanned constantly for signs of Death Eaters, though he had felt no disturbance in the wards around the Dursley residence.

Everything seemed as quiet and mundane as on his last vist.

This time, however, he had a companion in the form of a rather glamorous witch. Her black lace robes fluttered in the angry wind, and her face was a tempest to match. She glared at the old man two steps ahead of her with a barely concealed rage.

"I don't see why you are forcing me to do this," she hissed. "I refuse to interact with Muggles! I can barely even stand my own inlaws."

He showed no sign that he was disconcerted by her attitude. "It is the new standard procedure for Order tasks, Andromeda. After what almost befell poor Emmeline, no one should operate alone."

"You're Albus _bloody_ Dumbledore!"

"Which makes me even more of a target," he stated serenely. "You need not speak to the muggles if you are not so inclined. Simply watch the area for suspicious activity while I see to Harry."

She snorted, but her eyes began to scan the street as Dumbledore continued on with purposeful strides.

He spared a thought for a dark November many years ago, as he hopped up onto the doorstep where he had once abandoned an infant wizard. The front door didn't feel as solid as it should have when he chapped. Somehow the perfect row of near-identical houses felt false.

The door opened to reveal a thin, horse-faced housewife in a floral dress made for someone twenty years younger. She looked nothing like Lily.

"Mrs Dursley?" he asked.

"Yes?" That voice could cut diamonds.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I'm here to collect Harry."

Instantly, her face screwed up into an expression of utmost disgust and Dumbledore had to employ some quick wandwork to jam the door open.

"Really, my dear woman, there is no need for such dramatics. Simply call Harry down and we'll be on our way."

The Hogwarts headmaster had not previously believed that so much hate could be displayed on a person's face at one instant in time.

"He's not here! And good riddance to bad rubbish. That ungrateful brat has been nothing but trouble since he landed on our doorstep."

"What did you say?" His voice was low with anger and shock. Alarm coursed through him, as he realised that the prophesied child was missing. If Voldemort captured Harry, they were doomed. "Look at me!"

He forced her head up with a muttered spell, and her wide eyes met his gaze.

In ten minutes, he had extracted the entire story from her depressingly Muggle mind.

Their plates were almost cleared when a knock at the door announced the arrival of Professor Dumbledore, with Andromeda Tonks storming in behind him. Mrs Weasley spun around with wand flying to her hand, relaxing once she had verified the identity of the visitors.

"Good evening, Albus. You're just in time for dessert. You never said to expect you tonight?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Molly, but I really can't stay. I just came round to ask Remus to pick up Harry."

Something in the wizard's demeanour put Remus on edge. A deep breath revealed that he had cast an odour-masking charm, and the werewolf could not pick up on his emotions. But, like many pure-bloods, the wizard often employed that spell.

"I thought you were going to pick him up tomorrow?" Thank goodness for his hard-won acting skills.

"Who am I to deny the Boy Who Lived such a merry gathering of friends?" Danger lurked beneath that tone.

"What if there are Death Eaters about?" he suggested, desperately.

"You are quite capable of defending the boy, and you could always apparate him to safety."

"I suppose." His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he pushed back his chair.

No one else seemed to see anything out of the ordinary in the headmaster's request. They were relaxed, contented after their meal, and secure in the presence of those they trusted. Fleur and Bill had started making puppy eyes at each other again.

"Thank you for the lovely meal, Molly," he said, noting Mrs Tonks' scowl when he addressed the witch by her first name, and his unease grew.

He had almost escaped from the kitchen, giving Mrs Tonks and her evil eye a wide berth, when his usual luck reasserted itself.

"Remus."

Dumbledore's voice was cold enough to freeze Fiendfyre. The werewolf froze in the doorway and turned, tense.

"Are you going to explain to me why Harry left the Dursley household after mere moments on Monday night, and informed his relatives that he would not be returning?" Anger blazed behind the words.

"Harry's not at the Dursleys?" Remus said, with every semblance of shock.

"They also said that he was escorted by a wizard who Petunia recognised as a friend of Lily and James."

"Perhaps Sev-"

"It was not Severus!" Andromeda snapped. "Don't you dare try to play us for fools, wolf! Where is he?"

Remus' mind whirled. "I don't know what you are talking about."

The witch drew herself up and her eyes flashed with rage.

"Don't lie to me!" she snarled. "I know that you know where Harry is!"

He knew there was no use in denying it further but he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't give them the answer that would make them happy, even if he _had_ agreed that the Burrow was the best place for Harry. And with the traces of amortentia still lingering on the metal of the stove, he _knew_ his first reaction had been the correct one. Ginny had been waiting for years to get the Boy Who Lived in her clutches. He could not give up Harry's location. Harry would not want to be accosted in his own home by these self-appointed guardians.

Steeling himself, he looked into Andromeda's scornfilled eyes and smiled.

"What are you going to do?" he said flippantly. "Hex me?"

She lowered her voice and it was more threatening than if she had shouted.

"You may not be eighteen years old any more, Remus, but you are still a werewolf and I am still a daughter of House Black. I am perfectly able to cast the Cruciatus if I wish, and you know I wouldn't hesitate in this instance."

Mrs Weasley gasped. Remus stood unnaturally still and a pallor crept over his expression. Hermione could see his hands trembling at his side. Her mind raced as the threat registered, and she realised just what had been implied about Lupin's past.

"I can't tell you anything," he half-whispered, eyes lowered.

He flinched when the witch raised her wand, but made no move to evade. Her eyes narrowed and he could smell the change as she gathered her anger, sharpening it and focusing it in preparation to cast the Unforgiveable. He braced himself for the pain, but it never came.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Andromeda?" Dumbledore had placed a hand on her wand arm. "You won't be able to torture out information that Harry wants kept secret." The elderly professor didn't see the jaws dropping around the room at his calm tone. "Any spell capable of side-stepping the slavery bond would have to be incredibly obscure and powerful."

Andromeda lowered her wand, looking frustrated.

"And, of course, forcing a werewolf into a direct conflict with or a breach of its instructions always requires it to seek punishment."

The hairs on the back of Remus' neck stood up, and he took a step backwards. The elderly wizard did not appear to notice the move closer to the door. The glint in his eye put Remus on edge and he couldn't help but wonder what extremes Dumbledore would go to in order to keep Harry under his careful supervision. He wouldn't try one of those obscure methods, would he? Could that be worse than the unforgiveable?

A voice at the back of Remus' mind whispered about the aftermath of the Shrieking Shack incident. Dumbledore could be drawing parallels betweeen that situation and the current one, and concluding that Remus was endangering one of his students yet again. He knew from bitter experience that the wizard could justify almost anything for the greater good.

He shivered when Dumbledore turned his full attention on him.

"Harry Potter carries all our hopes for Voldemort's defeat," Dumbledore pronounced. "His continued safety is paramount. If the enemy gets their hands on him, we are all lost."

He didn't appear to notice the stir his words caused amongst the Weasleys.

"You know where he is. It is imperative for his safety that he come to Headquarters."

Dumbledore hadn't changed, Remus noted, shoving aside the flashes of memory from his sixth year.

The Headaster's tone turned harsh. "You will go to your master and tell him that he is expected at the Burrow within an hour, understood?"

Remus clenched his teeth and bit out a reply. "Yes, sir."

Hermione's anger was overpowering, even from across the room. She looked ready to launch into another tirade, but Fleur gripped her by the arm and pulled her back into her seat.

"Well," Andromeda demanded, "what are you waiting for? Get out, or I might just reconsider cursing you."

"I...I'm meant to stay here for dinner," he said, trying to sound braver than he felt.

She flung her hands up into the air. "For Merlin's sake. Werewolves!"

"You look like you've finished to me," Albus said, sternly.

"I'm not expected to check back in before nine," he said, hoping that his words would be interpreted to mean that he had been told not to get back before that hour, and therefore couldn't.

"Then where were you going before I stopped you?" Dumbledore said.

He blushed, and decided to shore up the man's impression of him as an obedient pushover. "To Privet Drive," he lied. "Like you told me to."

The humans bought it hook, line and sinker, and he was hard pressed to suppress his smile. With their current suspicions about the Weasley matriarch, he knew Harry would be grateful for even the small delay to sort out his feelings. Especially as Harry could hardly be expected to move to the Burrow at such a late hour. Receiving a summons at past nine o'clock meant that, with packing time, he could not possibly arrive before ten. Therefore, another night of freedom for the young wizard was perfectly reasonable.

Mrs Weasley slid a plate of banoffee pie onto the table and summoned him back from the door, content now that the confrontation appeared to be over. She did not see the silent stinging hex Andromeda hit him with as she turned to leave, though Fleur, Bill, Hermione and the twins seemed to have noticed. Several pairs of eyes narrowed as his posture stiffened, anyway. The Headmaster tutted at their irate expressions before following at the witch's heels.

Bill waited until he heard the pop of apparation.

"Are you okay, Remus?"

"I'm fine," he lied.

"I can't believe she did that. How could she speak to you like that!" Ginny raged.

"Mrs Tonks is awful," Hermione added. "Are you sure you're alright? That must have hurt."

"It was nothing," he said, slicing off a bit of pastry with the edge of his knife.

Incredulous looks met him on all sides. He made a big show of savouring his first bite of dessert.

"This pie is really good, Molly. May I have the recipe?"

"What did she mean?" Hermione said. "When she said 'you may not be eighteen any more'?"

Remus winced. "You really don't want to know."

"She cast the Cruciatus on you?" Ginny pressed, eyes wide.

"Please, Ginny. Forget she said anything."

"But that's illegal!"

"No, it's not," he corrected.

She obviously thought he had lost his mind. "It's an Unforgiveable!"

"And I'm a werewolf."

The chorus of gasps made him wish he hadn't said anything.

"It's legal to cast the Cruciatus on werewolves?" Ginny said, faintly.

Downplaying it, even as the thought sent a spike of fear through him, he said, "It's only an issue if I get on someone's bad side."

Fleur placed her hand over his and they fell into an uneasy silence.


	8. Chapter 8: Back at the Burrow

Chapter Eight- Back at the Burrow

"This is hopeless."

Harry flopped down onto the grass with a sigh of frustration, glowering at the bright red plastic hoop placed twelve feet in front of him.

"It's all about proper focus," Remus smiled gently, taking this as a cue to settle himself on the ground as well. He let the sun shine on his face, eyes closed for a moment against the clear blue sky. "Apparation is almost entirely about concentration."

"But I can't concentrate! Every time I try, I just end up thinking about-"

He broke off abruptly and his expression darkened.

"You can talk to me about it if it makes you feel better," Remus prodded. Harry didn't look convinced. "Or we could keep going until you splinch yourself."

"I can't stop thinking about Ron," he confessed. "He won't even look at me. We've barely spoken two words since I arrived yesterday morning, and Hermione won't stop talking about Creature Rights long enough for me to ask her why."

Awkward as he felt, Remus could not hold back from giving the explanation as he knew it. Harry's face darkened as the tale of jealousy unfolded. He scowled back at the ramshackle structure of the Burrow.

"It makes sense. Ron's always been a bit jealous. That's why he fell out with me in fourth year, you know."

"Sirius told me."

"You were in contact with him when he was on the run?"

Remus avoided eye contact. "Yes."

Harry waited to see if the werewolf was going to be more forthcoming, and when no elaboration came he decided not to pry. "I suppose getting my learner's license just made it worse."

"He's watching us from his window right now," Remus shared, fiddling with the hem of his robes. "He's been there since we came out."

Harry sighed again. "There are more important things to be worried about. He'll come round eventually- he always does."

Remus nodded his agreement.

They sat together for another ten minutes in the Burrow's garden, enjoying the rare sunshine and watching the foul-mouthed gnomes chase each other about the flower beds. Harry noticed that the diminutive creatures kept their distance from Remus and he was sure Remus must have been aware of the tiny evil glares but he gave no sign of it. Instead, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and started to string daisies together in a chain, humming slightly under his breath. His forearms were criss-crossed with scar tissue, faint against his pasty complexion, and Harry found himself fascinated, watching as the skin pulled with every movement.

"Was there anything more in the paper about Dolohov?"

The question startled Harry. He didn't understand the level of interest Lupin showed in the captured Death Eater. Every time anyone started to speculate on the subject, he drifted into the room and tried to pretend he wasn't listening to the conversation.

"The trial starts next Thursday, but they're already talking about whether he'll get the Kiss or not."

They both shuddered, and the summer sun didn't seem warm enough to combat the chill. Harry thought back to a chocolate-filled evening during his third year, and Lupin telling him, _"It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black." _His heart felt heavy with guilt and self-disgust.

"I know I said before, when I thought Sirius was guilty, that the Dementor's Kiss was justified, but the thought makes me sick. I'm not convinced anyone deserves that. Except maybe Voldemort."

Remus concentrated on threading daisies together. "Wizard justice can be overly cruel."

Harry thought of Sirius, fresh from Azkaban, with flesh wasted away and that dead look in his eyes. He thought of the Dementors, and his mother screaming in the back of his mind.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Azkaban didn't seem quite harsh enough for someone like Dolohov though, but Harry did not want to entertain thoughts of harsher punishment. Azkaban would have to do.

"It might be September before the trial ends," Remus said, absently. "They'll have to prove all sorts of different things before they can sentence him to the Kiss."

"No doubt it'll be splashed across the front page of the _Prophet_. I wish it wasn't the only way to get news while I'm at Hogwarts. It's so biased, even without Rita Skeeter buzzing about."

"You could take a mini-wireless," Remus suggested. "WWN is less biased than the paper, and I'm sure there's an old set kicking about in Sirius' room. He had one when we were teenagers, but I never saw it after he ran away from home. We used to listen to the Prides games in the Common Room."

"That's a great idea. I bet I'll feel really disconnected when I'm not here, getting updates from the Order before stuff even hits the news."

"At least you'll be able to concentrate on your NEWT subjects without distractions."

Harry frowned at the thought of more exams. He didn't even know what qualifications he needed any more- he didn't have the Potions grade to be an Auror and he had never considered any other wizarding career as a serious possibility.

"I don't know how motivated I'll be. I don't know what I want to do after Hogwarts. What do you think I'd be good at?"

"I'm not the person to advise you about careers, Harry. It's not something I ever got to think about."

Why go to Hogwarts then, Harry wanted to ask. Why take exams? What was the point? But he had decided days ago that Remus deserved as much privacy as possible so decided not to press the matter for now. If a topic seemed sensitive, he would leave it alone, and not force Remus into answering invasive questions. He wouldn't take advantage. And, secretly, he wasn't sure he wanted to know details of childhood as a werewolf. He didn't want to know whether Remus' experiences matched up to those described in such dry, perfunctory tones in the Ministry book.

"What are you going to do when I go back to school?" Harry said. "Help the Order?"

"I'm not exactly much help, unless I'm guarding your back. I thought I'd start looking for a job. Maybe ask round and see if anyone's hiring. If that's all right with you?"

Harry smiled. "Of course it is."

"If I can get anything, I'll need you to sign my contract. But I probably won't even manage to get an interview."

"Because you're a werewolf?"

Remus shrugged. "All employers check the register as a matter of course when they're hiring. Unless a position comes up in one of the Pure-blood houses, I've not got much chance."

"What sort of position?"

"Hopefully as a cook. It's what I trained for when I was a child. Good cooks are highly prized, and my aunt taught me everything she knew. And now I have experience running my own kitchen, so I'm more employable than I was before...before that Halloween. But I'll take what I can get."

This news was not as surprising as it might once have been, now that Harry thought about it. The four days they had spent together at Grimmauld Place had been marked by large home-cooked meals and some of them surpassed even Mrs Weasley's high standard. He had assumed at the time that Lupin just enjoyed cooking and didn't have much else to do, but the explanation made sense. He felt foolish in retrospect. He should have remembered what he had read in that awful book sooner about the rigid hierarchy of tasks within wizarding households. It had sounded too much like something from the BBC dramas Aunt Petunia liked to watch, and he had never considered how Lupin might fit into that framework.

The memory of cottage pie and garlic bread drifted across his mind and his stomach began to rumble.

"Isn't it time for you to start helping with dinner?" Harry asked suddenly.

This was their solution to the love potion problem. Remus had been insistent that he help prepare any meals, sure that no one could taint Harry's food under his sharp eyes. The argument had been long and fierce, and required Harry's intervention before Mrs Weasley finally relented and allowed someone else in her kitchen. Overt mention of Remus' status had implied that he _needed _to be involved in the process, and she had backed down in a fluster of embarrassment.

She had been surprised to find herself matched in cookery skill, and any complaints quickly vanished as her workload eased. As of yet, Remus had caught not a sniff of love potion in the entire house.

Remus' eyes darted to the position of the sun in the sky, and then to the open door of the Burrow. A frown worked its way onto his face.

"What is it?" Harry asked. "What's wrong?"

"I just don't like cooking here," he said, and then looked horrified at what he had inadvertently admitted. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded! It's just...I grew up in a traditional wizarding household and humans didn't have any involvement in the kitchen other than to choose the menu, and even Sirius would leave me in peace to get on with it, but here I have to work with a witch, and it's disconcerting. I'm on edge about this love potion nonsense, and-"

Harry thought it best to interrupt the monologue before it could really take off. "I'm not offended. It makes sense. I _did _read that manual."

If possible, this just made Lupin look even more uncomfortable. His hands stilled and his posture turned stiff.

"I get that you look on the kitchen as some sort of home environment. The set-up here must seem weird, with us all basically camped out round the table, and hardly anyone using the living room. There's not any privacy for you here, is there?"

"No, there isn't."

In truth, there wasn't much privacy for anyone, but at least most of the other adults had rooms to themselves. The house was so overcrowded that Remus had been transfiguring the couch into a makeshift bed every night. Mrs Weasley had, nevertheless, insisted that he not stay at Grimmauld Place alone.

"You can always go back to Grimmauld Place if you need some time to yourself."

"Thank you." His tone of gratitude made Harry feel more than a little uncomfortable.

The next day was eerily quiet in the Burrow. Both Bill and Fleur had shifts in Gringotts, Ginny had walked over the moor to visit Luna Lovegood, and the three remaining teenagers were still barely talking to each other. Even Mrs Weasley was quieted by the sombre atmosphere, and sat in the living room with knitting needles clicking away, eyes fixed firmly on the clock. All of the hands pointed to Mortal Peril almost constantly now.

Remus wandered the house, trying to find something to do. Harry was reworking his Transfiguration assignment, so there would be no apparition lessons today. Mrs Weasley shooed him out of the kitchen every time he tried to bake. He had no books to read, no letters to reply to and no chores to complete. He ghosted through the building, casting cleaning charms at out of the way corners and wishing he had plucked up the courage to ask Harry's permission to go visiting. Or even to apparate over to Grimmauld Place and raid the library.

He was passing the bathroom on the second floor landing when the sound of crying stopped him in his tracks.

"Hermione?"

The crying was muffled instantly. He moved closer to the door. He heard the rustling of paper and the sound of uneven breathing.

"Hermione? I know you're in there. Are you all right?"

Bare feet pattered over the tiles. She pulled open the door and his eyes widened in shock.

"I went into Fred and George's room to look for Harry, and they must have left it there as a joke."

Her hair was a bright, blazing neon pink. Remus' gut instinct was outrage that she had been poking about in Harry's room, but she sounded so utterly miserable that he couldn't feel anything but sorry for her. Even his lingering anger about her performance over dinner slipped away as he saw the tear tracks down her cheeks. Thankfully, he had years of experience cleaning up the aftermath of pranks taken too far. It couldn't be any worse than the time Sirius had charmed Alice's textbooks to scream Chudley Cannons chants whenever they were opened.

"Maybe I can fix it."

Half an hour of casting counter-charms at it made no difference. Eventually he resorted to a glamour, but the magic fizzled out as soon as it touched the first strand of hair. Astounded, he lowered his wand.

"I'm sorry, it just won't budge."

"But it's got to come out!" Hermione squeaked. "I can't go around looking like this forever!"

"There must be an antidote. The twins wouldn't leave something lying about without developing a counter to it."

"I can't wait until they decide to change it back! What if Ron sees me like this? Or Harry! They can't know about this! They'll never let me live it down."

He wondered absently what she had intended to do before he discovered her predicament.

"I can help you dye it," he offered. "It seems to be impervious to spells, but I bet Fred and George won't have thought of Muggle hair dye."

He couldn't leave the Weasleys' property to buy dye without letting Harry know about the whole situation though, and his alternative was purely dependent on his usually inadequate ability to convince a bad-tempered elf. Nevertheless, he knew the importance of discretion.

"That will work?"

"I think so. Do you have any Muggle money?"

"What?"

"I'll have to send Kreacher to Squib's Close, and I don't have any money, so..."

"Squib's Close?" she echoed.

Sometimes, it was hard to believe that muggleborns could be so ignorant.

"It's an alley in Edinburgh that caters for Squibs. It has magical _and_ muggle stuff on sale, and it won't breach the Secrecy Act if a house-elf turns up there."

"How do you know these things?"

"I grew up in the magical world. Everyone's heard of Squib's Close. Now, do you have enough money for hair dye?"

"In my room," she sniffed.

A quick accio charm from the doorway summoned her purse. He froze it in mid-air and peered gingerly inside to check that it was safe to handle

"Kreacher!"

He didn't expect the house-elf to appear at the first summons, but he still felt oddly slighted when there was no response. Hermione seemed ill-at-ease. No doubt she'd never been ignored by a house-elf. Muggleborns were still magical humans, and afforded some little respect. Even foul-tempered, prejudiced Kreacher could not think of himself as equal to or above her.

"Damn that elf," he muttered, unconsciously mimicking Sirius Black. "Kreacher!"

With an ear-splitting pop, the elf burst into existence, perched on the edge of the bath tub. His pillowcase was crisp and clean, his skin glowed with cleanliness, and his ear-hair trimmed back to a presentable state. His arms were folded and a scowl fixed on his face.

"What?"

"I need you to go to Squib's Close for me, and buy a packet of Muggle hair dye that is close to Hermione's natural colour."

"What will Remus do for Kreacher?" he said, slyly.

"What would you like me to do for you?" Remus asked, resigned to haggling yet again. The evil glint in the elf's eye did not put him at ease.

"Kreacher wants Remus to take over his chores for the half-blood master for one month."

"I'll do the laundry for one week."

He didn't mind washing sheets and pairing up magically-dried socks, but he had always made a point to complain about it within earshot of Kreacher, with the sole purpose of creating an advantage for situations like this. And, sure enough, the pronouncement met with a grin.

"Laundry, dusting, polishing, carpet-cleaning and room-airing, for three weeks."

"Laundry and room-airing, for one week."

"Laundry, room-airing and dusting for two weeks, and that's Kreacher's final offer."

Remus sighed. "Deal."

The elf cackled, snatched Hermione's purse, and disappeared.

"Can we trust him?" she said. "He won't tell Harry?"

"He'll tell Harry if he's asked directly, but it's Kreacher. He wouldn't volunteer the information. You should know that the same goes for me. I won't be able to lie for you if Harry asks."

She absorbed this information silently and then nodded. "I understand."

For a moment, she teetered on the edge of saying something more.

"How can you live like that?" she asked. For once, she didn't sound angry, or confrontational, just curious and sad.

_I don't have any choice_, he wanted to say, but he would never..._could_ never...give such sentiment voice. The witch stared up at him from her perch on the edge of the bath, tweed skirt and checked blouse of undeniably high quality, and he doubted that she could ever understand his viewpoint. She was the daughter of well-to-do parents, the most intelligent witch in her year, brought up to expect the best from life and attain everything she desired, if she only worked hard enough. How could she understand what it felt like to be trapped and despised; to have no say whatsoever in determining her own future; to spend every day counting the hours to the next agonising transformation?

"I'm sorry for pestering you," she said, abruptly. "I know I come on too strongly at times. I just wanted to help. I shouldn't have asked."

She smelled sincere but he was suspicious of her motives. Was she just trying to get him on her side?

"What's brought on this change of heart?" he asked.

Her lip trembled. "Harry's not talking to me, Ron's in a huff and I don't think Mrs Weasley approves of me any more than she approves of Fleur." From what Remus could tell, there wasn't much difference in it, though he wasn't about to share that little scrap of information. "I realised that I've been pushing everyone away, and all I've done is make you uncomfortable."

"Yes, you have," he said, bluntly. "I told you I don't like talking about it, particularly not in such a public situation, and you completely disregarded that. You can't help people by riding rough-shod over their wishes."

"I wasn't thinking of that."

"Well, it's time you started thinking."

"I guess I'm not so smart after all," she said, self-depreciatingly.

It was so unlike her to mope that this gloomy little aside sent alarm bells ringing. She had really taken the news hard, and Remus supposed he had been unsympathetic. She must had received quite a shock when she learned the truth, and he had to admit that her heart was in the right place. Maybe she was starting to realise how helpless the situation was, where before she had always found solutions. Sirius had praised her to the high heavens for her part in his daring escape from Hogwarts on the back of a fugitive Hippogriff. It must have been frustrating to find a problem she could not overcome.

"Thank you for the apology," he accepted.

If he had thought that was enough to dissuade her, he was sorely mistaken.

"There must be _something_ I can do?"

Hope rang in her voice, as if she was hanging on his answer, expecting some brilliant revelation.

"Nothing can break the curse, and every possible way to help has already been arranged by the hag covens."

"Really?" she said, smiling. She obviously envisioned some great, expansive anti-slavery network, searching day and night to break the curse.

"It's not much," he felt obliged to add. "They've set up a sort of 'safe haven', where we can meet up, have a chat, and get advice or some basic medical treatment, maybe borrow a couple of books or read a newspaper. They hand out free crosswords and stuff."

Her hopeful expression crumpled with disappointment. "That's all they can do?"

"Do you think that's too trivial?" he said, eyebrow raised. "For most of us, that sort of thing isn't to be taken for granted. Just because you've grown up with the luxury of going to a doctor every time you bump your head doesn't mean everyone has the same good luck. They've made a real difference."

"I can't...I can't imagine what that's like."

"No," he said. "I don't suppose you can. Lucky you."

He wished Kreacher would hurry up. He didn't want to talk about this. Hermione's natural inquisitiveness was sure to steer the conversation back into rough waters, despite her fresh apology. She might think she was being sensitive and caring, but he just felt uncomfortable. He didn't want to admit to her just how precious such small freedoms were. If only she wasn't so fixated on the issue.

"If you are serious about helping me, you should help Harry. He needs everything you can give to help him survive this war."

"Of course I'm going to help Harry."

"Really? Because it doesn't look like you've been doing much of that so far this summer."

They were interrupted by the re-entrance of Kreacher, who dropped a plastic shopping bag on the floor and shoved the purse into Remus' hands. He almost dropped it instinctively, before remembering that it contained only Muggle currency.

"Two weeks," Kreacher said, nastily. "I'll get my duster ready for you."

With that last word, he popped away.

"You owe me," Remus joked, throwing the purse to Hermione.

Her voice was wobbly. "Thank you."

The sooner this was over with the better, he thought, trying not to dwell on her misery. Being in close quarters to such strong emotion was starting to become a bit overwhelming and he wished he could stop smelling the unhappiness pouring off the witch.

"I think this will be a bit dark," he said, looking at the box dubiously.

"As long as it isn't pink, I'll be happy."

"Alright," he said. "It's probably best to do this over the bath."

He peeled off his shirt and folded it carefully, placing it on the floor beside the door. It might be grey and patched, but that was no reason to splatter it with hair-dye.

The flimsy cardboard of the box gave way easily beneath his fingernails. He shook out the paper instruction sheet. When he looked up, Hermione still hadn't moved.

"I don't think this is really appropriate, sir," she said, dubiously.

He scoffed. "Please. I'm a werewolf, Hermione. I have no interest whatsoever in witches. As far as you are concerned, I might as well be a eunuch."

She still looked sceptical.

He rolled his eyes. "There are plenty of female werewolves, you know. I'm attracted to women of my own species, not yours. I'm not a pervert."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

He unscrewed the tops from the dye bottles, cast an eye over the instructions and poured the contents of one bottle into the other.

"I'd have to be completely messed up in the head to find you attractive. No offence."

"You're saying that you don't even think of witches that way? Not at all?"

"Of course not! That's disgusting."

She stared. He could pinpoint the exact moment when she grasped his meaning. She gave a great gasp.

"That's fascinating," she gushed. "I didn't think any Magical Creatures had such strong feelings against relationships with humans."

"It works both ways," he pointed out, shaking the bottle of dye to mix the colour. "It's taboo for humans too, thank Merlin. The Ministry sentence for humans that are attracted to werewolves is a stint in Azkaban, unless they volunteer for psychiatric treatment."

Her jaw dropped. "Just for being _attracted_ to a werewolf?! But..."

"So, are you going to let me dye your hair back to a somewhat normal shade? Or would you prefer to look like a Muggle troll toy forever?"

"Troll toy!" she squeaked, hands flying to her ears.

"Yes, so cast an imperturbable charm on your blouse so we can get started."

She looked relieved that she wouldn't have to remove her blouse in front of him, but her suspicion lingered. "Why couldn't you do that to your shirt?"

"Because my clothes are so old that they're mostly held together by magic. I can't afford to cast any more spells on them than are necessary."

There was no further protest, though she did look uneasy as she hung her head over the edge of the bath. He slipped on the wafer-thin protective gloves, feeling a bit uneasy himself. He didn't know anything about the Muggle process for dyeing hair, apart from Lily's complaints that James wouldn't let her try it.

Hermione's hair was so thick, and there was so much of it, that he struggled to cover everywhere with the contents of one measly packet. He resisted the temptation to magically multiply the mix- there was no telling how Fred and George's spell would react to such an attempt.

"I think it's working," he murmured, raking his fingernails across her scalp.

An aguamenti sluiced the hair dye into the bath, and the water ran red down the plug hole. He managed not to splash the tainted water on his trousers, but little flecks dotted across his stomach, looking far too much like blood.

"Take a look," he said, gesturing to the mirror, when the process was complete.

"It's not pink!" she squealed. Her face lit up with happiness, and she ran her fingers through her hair, staring at the locks in the mirror. It was dark, quite a lot darker than her natural shade, but the change was flattering.

"It makes you look older," Remus said. "You look like a proper young lady now."

"Maybe I should have it cut shorter," she said, holding a damp lock between her fingers.

"I don't think Mrs Weasley would approve, but I'm sure Fleur could give you some tips."

"I'm sure," Hermione echoed.

As she was towelling her hair dry, she said, "I didn't know that you knew other werewolves."

"It's lonely sometimes. Being the way we are. Family and friends are more important than anything."

"Do you get to see them often?"

"Sirius let me visit once a fortnight."

She wasn't the smartest witch of her age for nothing.

"You've not asked Harry yet, have you?" Her tone was knowing.

Buttoning up his shirt, he avoided her eyes and tried not to show his worry."What if he says no?"

"He won't say no," she smiled.


	9. Chapter 9: The Lecture

Chapter Nine- The Lecture

Remus hesitated outside the door. The tarnished silver doorknob taunted him and he glared back. How could he have been so stupid as to forget?

He glanced back to the top of the stairs and sighed. There was nothing for it but to ask for help.

He found Hermione in the library on the floor below, surrounded by books on Dark and Soul magic. A stack of tomes teetered on the edge of the central table and Remus pushed them into a more stable position as he passed. Seeing the manic way in which she was flitting from shelf to shelf, and the ghastly knowledge she was collating, he questioned his wisdom in inviting her along. He tried not to think about what she might have read in the time he had spent changing sheets and airing and dusting unused bedrooms.

"Hermione?" he said, feeling that he was interrupting some sort of sacred ritual. "Could you give me a hand with something? It won't take a minute."

"Sure," she said.

It was more than a bit embarrassing to be defeated by a doorknob. After stomping up to the topmost landing, Hermione looked in confusion between him and the closed door bearing Sirius' nameplate.

"Why have we stopped?"

"I need you to open the door for me. The handle is silver."

She gaped at him. "I thought that was a myth! Everyone says it's a myth."

"Unfortunately not."

"How did you get into the other rooms?"

"Kreacher leaves the doors slightly open for me, but he never cleans in there. Sirius didn't want me nosying around either."

A rush of stale air met them when Hermione turned the handle. She let out a soft whistle.

Long velvet curtains obscured the windows and cast the room into darkness. The smell of stale alcohol assaulted Remus' nostrils. A flick of his wand pushed the curtains back and light streamed over a scene of complete slovenliness. Empty firewhiskey bottles lay strewn across the stained carpet, their unopened brethren lining the wall beside the large unkempt bed which had obviously seen one too many late night drinking sessions after Sirius's incarceration. Off in the corner stood a mountain of dirtied clothing that unsurprisingly also contained its fair share of bottles. It was as if Sirius had only just stumbled downstairs for breakfast that very morning. The sight made a lump catch in Remus' throat.

He strode over to the window and flung up the sash. He kept his back turned to Hermione as he conjured two crates and began to sort empty bottles into one and full bottles into the other. The temptation to smash them was difficult to resist.

"Azkaban must be terrible," Hermione said, still standing in the doorway. "And then to be holed up in here..."

Remus made a noise of agreement as he spelled the dust off the curtains. A critical inspection of the window pane revealed a layer of cobwebs and dirt, and he sluiced this off as best he could. A bucket of water and some elbow grease would be needed to finish it off but it looked presentable and he would leave it to Kreacher. It didn't count as dusting, after all.

Hermione had stepped inside the doorway and was gazing up at Sirius' pristine posters of motorcycles and Muggle girls in bikinis.

The bedclothes were a complete mess and Remus suspected that Sirius had never even changed the sheets during the entire year he had lived here. Even with him chasing everyone away, somehow Remus had still assumed that the sheets would be clean. He had forgotten that Sirius had been waited on his entire life and couldn't even tell one end of a teaspoon from the other. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and began to strip the sheets.

"Kreacher's a lazy little hypocrite," he said, wrestling with the duvet. A Cockroach Cluster wrapper fell onto the floor.

"What do you mean?"

"He's spent the last year telling me what a disgrace I am for hiding away and reading the paper and not falling over myself to serve Sirius. But he's not exactly been a paragon of servility, has he?"

He tossed the duvet cover onto the carpet along with the sheets and folded up the duvet on top of the mattress. A freshening charm removed the muffled bad odour. A whiskey stain on the pillow had deepened into an impressively large blotch and Remus banished the entire pillow, writing it off as a loss.

"Servility?" Hermione parroted. "Surely you aren't expected to..."

The light from the window revealed the murky underside of the bed. A few hulking grey shapes lurked there. Even at Hogwarts, Sirius had hidden things under his bed. Remus dropped onto his hands and knees and started pulling things out. A handful of broken quills, a crumpled photograph of Peter Pettigrew aged twelve, more bottles and a formal robe bearing the Black crest. The latter might have fitted Harry were he taller and Remus set it aside, resolving to take up the hem. He reached blindly under the bed again and his hand brushed against something burning hot. A fierce jolt of pain shot through him and he hit his head off the wooden bed frame as he snatched his hand back.

"Are you okay?" Hermione said.

It took a few moments before he could answer. His hand stung fiercely and he blinked away tears.

"I think there are anti-werewolf wards on something under here," he said, drawing away. Now that he concentrated, he could sense the low, malevolent aura, itching to hurt him. The power was a lot less than the power of the wards in the basement and he would never have sensed the danger before being burned. It hurt to think that Sirius would cast a spell like that. No matter how cold their relationship had become, Sirius had never before tried to physically hurt him. Not intentionally.

"Would you pull it out for me, please?"

His palm looked red and shiny and he could feel the burn deepening. Already, his fingers felt stiff. Washing the bed linen was going to hurt.

The witch grimaced as her skirts touched the mangy carpet but she gamely reached into the dark. The prize, when she pulled it out, was a horribly familiar blue folder. The words "Property of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (Werewolf Division)" were printed on the heavy cardboard.

Remus groaned. "Can you set it on the dressing table? Harry will need to return it to the Ministry."

"Why? What is it?"

"A copy of my case file." Hermione's expression turned curious. "Can you please check if there's a book under there too?"

He was glad that Hermione had chosen to accompany him, though she had only done so to escape Molly's mothering and Fleur's pretence of oblivious rudeness. She was far too curious for her own good but she didn't try to pry once he had reminded her of his wish for privacy. It surprised him slightly that she didn't just override his opinion. She set the folder and the Werewolf Owner's Manual on the table with a pang and then fussed over removing the dirty mark from her knees. When he had finished scouring the carpet, she accompanied him downstairs in thoughtful silence. To his surprise, she didn't disappear back into the library, but followed him into the kitchen.

"Can I get you a cup of tea or something?" he asked.

"I'm fine, thanks," she replied.

She seemed to be inspecting the pristine condition of the kitchen as she wandered around and Remus felt oddly slighted by her inattention. She took in the fresh white ceiling, the magically restored wallpaper and the gleaming floor. He watched her run a finger along the worktop and tried to suppress his irritation at the gesture. The notion that he would cook on dirty surfaces was more than mildly insulting. He vanished into a store cupboard off the pantry as she continued her inspection.

He took a few calming breaths after he had shut the door and found himself surrounded by mops and cleaning products. As witches went, Hermione was good-hearted but that didn't stop his unease at close interaction with her. She was uncommonly clever, reminding him of Lily at times, but Lily had always possessed far more tact and was less caught up in her own importance. She really had been the perfect match for James, the perfect counter to his priviledged outlook.

The washing tub was deceptively heavy. He cheated and cast a featherlight charm before he dragged it into the kitchen. By the time he was up to his elbows in hot soapy water, Hermione had ensconced herself at the table and buried her head in a copy of _The Rise and Fall of Dark Lords_. The radio chattered away in the background and he considered being courteous and turning it off but if Hermione wanted peace and quiet she could go elsewhere. He had not had the chance to listen to the radio in days.

There were worse ways to pass an hour than scrubbing musty sheets in scalding water and listening to the Mystic Circle. Despite the stinging of his hand whenever it came into contact with the water, he was happy to feel useful. Ghosting around the Burrow with nothing to do only emphasised his sense of dependency. He felt as though he was just waiting for Harry's patience and understanding to come to an end and for reality to crash back down on him. He was waiting for the inevitable moment when he would put a foot wrong and their pretence would crumble. So far, Harry had treated him with respect and kindness. It was obvious that the teenager felt uncomfortable with the whole situation and Remus was unsure how to act around an owner whose nappies he had changed- an owner who treated him as if he were human. But for the first time, he belonged to a wizard whom he felt _deserved_ his respect and he didn't want to disappoint him. He didn't want their relationship to sour and he didn't want to believe that it was as doomed as his relationship with Sirius had proved to be. He didn't want to obey another wizard for no other reason than fear of what his disobedience would mean.

Taking out his frustrations on yet another bedsheet, he shoved these thoughts to the back of his mind. He was fully aware that his wishes were irrelevant. How his life developed was dependent entirely on Harry's will and all he could do was adapt to his circumstances. Still, he fostered the hope that Harry would not abuse that power. Harry really was a lot like his parents. Whether Harry treated him like a human or a werewolf, he wanted to help Lily and James' son.

The morning dwindled away with the pile of dirty laundry. The DJ on the Mystic Circle played a selection of trite hits from the 1970s followed by the full fourth album of Romania's most successful vampiric orchestra. A brief news segment announced the disappearance of an influential centaur philosopher and the poisoning of a lake in Sutherland, complete with soundbites of angry merfolk. The day's first radio play was a short comedy involving a donkey, an ogre and an enchanted gingerbread man. Remus didn't find the sketch particularly amusing but he listened all the same. He had missed the illusion of a connection to the wider world that the wireless gave him.

Twenty minutes before he needed to return to the Burrow to help prepare lunch, the Floo flared and Harry tumbled out of the hearth. A layer of soot coated his overlarge Muggle jeans and Remus winced at the flurry of black dust that fell to the rug when Harry tried to brush it off.

"You _can_ use magic, you know," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Harry blushed. "I don't know any cleaning charms."

"Scourgify?" Hermione said sarcastically.

"Oh yeah."

His imperfect execution of the spell made Remus smile, even as Hermione tutted and spelled away the remaining grime.

"I don't see how you can master the Patronus Charm at thirteen but can't learn basic spells to take care of your appearance. There. Now you look presentable. Why are you here anyway?"

"It's my house. I can visit any time that I choose." He saw his friend's expression and sighed. "Dumbledore sent me a letter this morning to say he is coming to talk to me. I thought I'd delay the long-awaited lecture for a little longer."

"Harry! You can't just ignore him! And Mrs Weasley will be worried sick that you just disappeared."

"I told her I wouldn't be back for lunch," he smiled. "She was too busy having a shouting match with Mundungus to stop me."

"This will be the first place Professor Dumbledore looks," Hermione pointed out.

He shrugged. "I'm making a statement. I'm not hanging about waiting for him all day- he doesn't control my life. At least, he shouldn't. If he wants to talk to me so badly, he can come and find me. It's rude of him to issue a summons like that."

He suddenly seemed to realise that they had an audience.

"Hey, Remus."

"Morning."

As the werewolf looked up, he raised a hand to brush some hair back from his eyes and some soap suds clung to the strands. He blew the bubbles off but the dampness lingered. When he returned his attention to Harry, the wizard was frowning at the basin of half-washed laundry. He could see the questions in Harry's eyes and Hermione was beginning to look nervous.

"Shouldn't Kreacher be doing that?"

"We made a bargain that I would help him if he helped me."

This made a twisted sort of sense to Harry and he wondered yet again what the truth of their relationship was. Most of the time, the two of them bickered and traded insults, but Harry had walked in on them amicably playing chess together at one point the week before. He didn't understand how anyone could like the foul-mouthed house-elf enough to befriend it but he suspected that Lupin might actually count it as a friend. Pondering this possibility, he missed Hermione's tense posture relaxing as she realised that her embarrassing moment was not about to become public knowledge.

"Where's Kreacher anyway?"

"Lurking in his cupboard?" Remus said quizzically.

Harry winced almost imperceptively. "Do you think he'd like a room to sleep in? I hate the thought of him sleeping in there."

"He _has_ a room. He's meant to sleep in the room opposite mine but Sirius moved him into the cupboard as a punishment."

"A punishment for what?"

"Being Kreacher, I think."

Hermione hissed like an angry goose and Harry looked gobsmacked.

"Sirius wouldn't...Kreacher!"

The house elf popped into the kitchen at Harry's summons, looking shockingly presentable in a white uniform emblazoned with the Black family crest.

"Yes, master?"

Harry carefully inspected the scrubbed-up servant. Despite the well-groomed appearance, it was clear that the elf did not like or approve of his new owner, judging by the thunderous expression.

"I'd like you to move back into your old room," he said slowly. "If you want to, that is."

Kreacher's eyes lit up and he actually smiled. When the frown lines and angry stare disappeared, he looked like a different elf. Harry was startled at the sudden resemblance to Dobby.

"Thank you, master. Thank you."

If he didn't know better, Harry would have sworn that there were tears in Kreacher's eyes. Remus was smiling and Hermione's face shone with approval.

"Kreacher will move right away."

With this fervent proclamation, he disapparated.

"That was a lovely thing you just did," Hermione beamed.

Harry waved off the compliment in embarrassment. "It was nothing. I was only correcting Sirius' mistakes. I can't _believe_ he did that!"

Remus started to scrub away at a stain on a duvet cover. He definitely _could_ believe that the fugitive had been so callous. He had spent months watching Sirius kick Kreacher around and scream insults and abuse. The cupboard was hardly the worst of it. Whatever unresolved issues Sirius had from childhood, whatever self-absorbed cruelties he had inflicted at Hogwarts, Remus would never have expected him to treat his house elves as badly as the worst of wizards. It worried the werewolf and he had ended up keeping out of Sirius' way as much as possible.

"I can't either," Hermione said, fiddling with the corner of her book's cover. "I knew he hated Kreacher but that's _awful_."

Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably. "It is, isn't it?"

Remus caught the faint scent of shame wrapped up amongst Harry's unease, and he wondered at it. Why would he be ashamed that Sirius had made Kreacher sleep in a cupboard? Was he ashamed of his own godfather? Remus couldn't believe that, despite the searching questions the teenager had posed from the flames of the kitchen fireplace all those weeks ago. Harry knew that James had not been perfect and he had seemed to accept that fact. He must have realised that Sirius also had his flaws and deep-rooted issues. He had seen Sirius muttering death threats on his very first visit to Grimmauld Place and he had never objected before. Why would anything be different now?

Caught up in his meditations and the soothing motions of his chores, Remus' attention strayed from the witch and wizard long enough to miss a significant chunk of their conversation. More disappointingly, he also lost his grip on the focus of the news bulletin currently hissing away in the background. When he snapped out of his contemplations, it was to his burnt hand smarting as he jostled one of the emerging blisters.

"What _are_ you reading?" Harry was saying.

Hermione drew herself up defensively. "I found it in the library. It's about the lives and deaths of Dark Lords from Ancient Greece onwards."

"Does it mention Voldemort?"

"It's much older than that," she enthused. "It doesn't even mention Grindelwald! There's no date on the inside cover but, as far as I can tell, it was written sometime during the eighteenth century."

"Do you think it has anything we'll find useful?"

Harry perched on the side of an armchair, too keyed up to sit down at the table. As they chatted, Kreacher traipsed back and forth moving his small collection of belongings. When he first ducked behind the tapestry at the back of the room, balancing a blanket, a cracked mug and a bundle of clothing, Harry's jaw dropped. He had never considered that there might be hidden rooms in the house but now he hypothesised that Lupin and Kreacher were using old servants' quarters. It made sense that those would be located behind the kitchens. His attention wandered from Hermione's explanation of her reading material and he was unaware of her continuing to jabber on.

"Harry? Harry, are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry. Are you ready for lunch yet?" Harry asked. "I'm starving."

She rolled her eyes and he suspected that she was comparing him to Ron. "I _am_ a bit hungry."

"Any preferences?"

"What do you have?" Hermione said.

Harry turned to Remus, who promptly answered, "The larder's full, so anything you want."

"Whatever you want to make will do for me," Harry said self-consciously. "We're not fussy. Right, Hermione?"

She jumped to agree and Remus suppressed a smile. It was refreshing to be treated with such consideration and the shyness of the pair was strangely amusing. Harry would need to be more assertive in future to prevent giving him too much leeway but for now Remus was happy to maintain their pleasant fiction and choose for himself what to cook. He considered his repertoire of simple lunches and checked it against his mental list of the pantry's ingredients.

He shook some excess water off his hands and stepped away from the tub, leaving the sheets to soak. He winced as the washboard knocked against the metal sides but Harry didn't appear to notice the careless way he had dropped his hold on it. When he was a child, he would have been scolded for being so heavy-handed.

Before selecting his ingredients, he set out three plates, three sets of cutlery and three glasses. Hermione's gaze followed him as he moved around.

"I'll help," she offered but both Harry and Remus were shaking their heads before she'd finished speaking.

"I need to have chores to do," Remus said gently. "You can help me by _not_ helping."

"I thought you were just lying to Mrs Weasley when you said that."

"How did you know-"

"I know when someone's lying, sir. I won't pretend to know why but I knew you weren't telling the truth."

"My chores don't _have_ to include preparing all of Harry's meals but I have to do something, and I enjoy cooking."

There. He had managed to side-step the truth without lying in front of Harry, and their suspicions about Mrs Weasley's behaviour would remain hidden for another day. As far as the bond was concerned, absolute honesty was required as long as there was the slightest chance that Harry could believe any untruths. Lies spoken in front of Sirius had almost always been pre-arranged and they had had a long-standing agreement that Remus could invent new lies when needed as long as Sirius was not deceived. Hence their little drama in the Shrieking Shack after Sirius broke out of Azkaban. Harry, however, had never sat down with him to thrash out the details of any such arrangement.

As the werewolf disappeared to collect ingredients from where ever the food stores were, Harry settled down at the table across from his friend. Her gaze was unfocused and he could tell that she was thinking over what Remus had just said.

"You've not really spoken to me in a few days," he said. "I've not offended you somehow, have I?"

That brought her back to Earth with a bump. "Of course not!"

"Then why have you been avoiding me?"

She bit her lip. "I've been upset about Professor Lupin and I'm missing my parents a bit. I didn't realise I'd been ignoring you. I'm sorry."

It dawned on him that she had spent most of her Christmases away from them over the past few years, she never went home for Easter and she had stayed with the Weasleys for the majority of the last three summers. She barely saw her family for four weeks out of the entire year. For some reason, he had never thought that strange before.

"You don't spend much time with your parents."

She sighed. "They don't understand. They don't really know about the war or how bad it is. I don't think they understand that we could be in danger. It's a distant issue to them. They don't even know about the whole Boy Who Lived thing. They feel like strangers now."

He raised his eyebrows. "Didn't you explain it to them? Don't they have any idea what you've been going through?"

Hermione paused and he could tell that she was carefully considering what her next words would be. She watched silently as Remus reentered the room carrying some cans and a cloth sack and then she admitted, "I haven't tried as hard as I might have. I didn't want to worry them."

"They are your parents. They have a right to know. Just because they are Muggles doesn't mean that you have to leave them behind."

"I know, but...it's just difficult. I feel like we're worlds apart. They know almost nothing about the magical world."

"You can change that," he pointed out.

She frowned and he could tell that she was considering his words.

In the background, the wireless crackled away with a bad signal. Harry recognised the jaunty jingle which always introduced the latest installment of "Wilbert the Warlock" and hoped that Hermione was not paying attention. If she realised that non-human magical beings had their own radio station she was likely to devote weeks of her time to an analysis of their broadcasts. He needed to distract her and he needed to do it quickly.

"I finished my summer homework," he blurted out.

"Oh Harry! That's excellent. Which essay question did you answer for Professor McGonagall's assignment?"

"I choose the Switching Spell one. Neville told me he was thinking of writing about their use in Herbology for splicing and it made me start to think about their applications for defence. It made the subject seem a lot more interesting. Otherwise, I think I would have been like Ron and left it to do on the train back to school."

"It's important to do these things promptly," she lectured. "I bet Professor Lupin didn't leave his homework to the last minute when he was at Hogwarts."

Remus paused in his rifling through the cupboards for a lost bottle of red wine vinegar.

"I always did my summer homework before the leaving feast," he admitted and her eyes lit up with triumph. "But that was only because I knew I couldn't do it at home."

"Why not?" she said, confused, but Harry shushed her quickly and moved the conversation on to a detailed analysis of his Transfiguration essay. Never had anyone discussed the theory of Switching Spells with such gusto. She didn't fall for the distraction- she could quite obviously see straight through Harry's subterfuge- but she went along with it anyway. Maybe it was part of her new policy of not pushing people for answers, Remus mused.

He kept an ear on the wireless as he whipped together some dressing with the vinegar. The week's continuation of the story saw Wilbert travelling to the ruins of Camelot, intending to enact an ancient ritual to unlock his hidden powers. Within the first three minutes, the 'warlock' had already lost his map and unwittingly defaced an ancient stone circle with the leftovers from his packed lunch. If the writers stuck to the general formula, Remus guessed that Wilbert was likely to be pursued by a guardian of the stone circle, enter into an unbreakable bargain of a fairytale-like nature, stumble through a series of mishaps and survive by sheer dumb luck.

He set the food down in front of the humans, clearing more of a space in the middle of Hermione's tower of books and scribbled notes. There was just enough pumpkin juice left in the cooling cabinet to fill three glasses and he found the end of a baguette in the bread bin. He made a mental note to bake some more to replenish his stocks, as he sliced the bread expertly and divided it up.

"What is this?" Hermione said.

"Tuna, asparagus and cannellini bean salad. You don't mind salad, do you?"

He had spent enough time living in the same house as her to learn her food preferences but there was always the chance that he could have confused something.

"No, it looks fantastic. I thought you just meant you were going to make sandwiches or something simple though. I feel like I'm out for lunch with my parents- it looks like something a professional chef would whip up."

"Hermione?" Harry put in, tentatively. "Remus sort-of _is_ a professional chef. He's a trained cook."

"Why would you train as a cook? You got straight Outstandings in your NEWTs."

"Perfect grades don't make up for what I am, Hermione." If possible, she now looked even more confused. "No one is going to hire me to a human position."

"Werewolves have to be useful," Harry stressed. "Remus likes cooking and he was taught to a professional standard so that he can earn his keep. Skilled werewolves are more highly valued and are generally treated better than werewolves that only do physical labour."

"Cooking is more fun than scrubbing floors," Remus smiled. "And much better for my knees."

Her appalled expression made him feel awful for teasing.

"But you have twelve Os!" she practically squeaked.

"And if Harry so decided, I could spend the rest of my life cleaning out toilets with a toothbrush. Those exam results are only a piece of parchment, Hermione. They aren't an instant ticket to happiness and prosperity- they're barely even worth the parchment they're written on as far as I'm concerned. Practical skills are much more important."

The witch looked as though the very foundation of her world view had been shaken to oblivion.

"Maybe we should judge these practical skills," Harry grinned, trying to ease the tension.

He unfolded his napkin onto his lap and picked up his knife and fork. Hermione sighed and followed suit. For a moment Remus stood awkwardly beside the worktop, until a subtle nod from Harry reassured him that he was invited to sit at table with them.

It had been a long time since he last cooked something so delicate and Molly Weasley had been plying them all with heavy cooked meals. He found himself enjoying the different flavours and it felt refreshingly healthy to eat something lighter for a change.

"This is really good," Harry commented, shovelling more tuna onto his fork.

"It's lovely," Hermione agreed softly.

"Thank you."

The praise was unexpected and oddly fufilling. Approval was not something he had ever had from an owner. Sirius had been cool and politely disdainful most of the time and Gill Fespwitch... Fespwitch had always found something to criticise, something for which to punish. Remus had long harboured the belief that the DRCMC official purposely sought out excuses to inflict misery, pain and humiliation. The summer after his first year at Hogwarts had finally convinced him that it was all due to the man's malicious nature and not mistakes on his own part. Mostly.

"Did you see Rita Skeeter's latest article in the Prophet?" Harry asked. "I think she's losing her touch."

Hermione grinned wickedly. "I've let her know that she needs to stick to plain hard facts or I'll go to the Ministry and let them in on her little secret."

Pure unadulterated glee poured off Harry and Remus felt his curiosity surge. He hadn't read the article, as he only had access to the Daily Prophet when Harry thought to share his copy, but he had never seen one of Skeeter's articles cause such joy before and he was intrigued.

"You have blackmail material on Rita Skeeter?"

"She's an illegal animagus- a beetle."

"She uses her form to spy on people," he realised. "That makes so much sense!"

"Hermione caught her in a jar last summer," Harry said, "and then blackmailed her into not writing lies and malicious gossip any more."

"And it just so happens," said Hermione, "that her current assignment with the Daily Prophet is to run a celebrity gossip column."

The teenagers were giddy with delight as they discussed the journalist's progressing fall from grace. Hermione's face glowed with pride and the rare easy laughter from Harry seemed a gift from the gods. The worries and cares from the war fell away. He resembled his father even more strongly as he became swept up in the tide of ridiculous plans and speculations. James's enthusiasm for the planning of a new prank had taken similar form and Remus watched and remembered with a lingering, wistful smile. His heart gave a wrench at the glimpses of a friend long gone.

When he had polished off his own portion, relishing every mouthful of fish, he set down his cutlery and waited for the humans to finish. His eyes fell on the closed door leading out into the hallway. Sirius would have sneered at the salad if Remus had dished up such a thing for him. He had turned up his nose at the type of upper-class dining his parents preferred. He liked working men's food- the sort of simple pub fare that left cooks frustrated and bored to distraction. There was no job satisfaction in frying burgers and chips that were subsequently smothered in enough ketchup to mask the flavour almost entirely.

"Are you alright?" Hermione said, shaking him out of his thoughts.

His glance towards the hallway had not gone unnoticed.

"I just...I keep finding myself looking up, half-expecting Sirius to walk through the door. It's hard to believe that he's gone."

Hermione smiled sadly. "You must have been really close."

"Not as close as you might think."

He rose to clear the table. Hermione looked like she was about to offer her assistance again, when she was interrupted by the doorbell. The sound echoed eerily through the house and Mrs Black's portrait started screaming in the hallway. A popping sound announced the return of Kreacher.

"It's the nasty whiskered wizard. Should Kreacher let him in?"

"Nasty whiskered wizard?" Hermione said.

"He means Professor Dumbledore." Remus refilled the teapot and cast a heating spell to boil the water. "He always calls him that."

"He _is_ a nasty whiskered wizard," Kreacher insisted. "May Kreacher tell him to go and burn in Hades, master?"

Harry was so disturbed by the rising note of hope in Kreacher's query that he didn't notice Remus chuckling and Hermione's scandalised expression.

"No, you may show him in. Tell him we are in the kitchen. And be polite about it."

The house-elf looked on the verge of a tantrum at the order but obeyed without a word. Within seconds, the headmaster swept into the room. His psychedelic robes swirled round his high-heeled boots as he halted abruptly.

"Hello, sir," Harry said.

"Good evening, Mr Potter. Miss Granger."

The tone was formal and serious. Remus' stomach lurched as he remembered past times when that tone had been directed at him across the desk of the Headmaster's office, always heralding a Floo call home and a "parent-teacher conference". In his seventh year, these had involved very frosty conversations between Sirius and Dumbledore about Sirius' propensity for dragging his werewolf into trouble. Such conversations were infinitely preferable to the visits Fespwitch had made to the school during earlier years.

Harry didn't seem remotely bothered at finding himself at the end of Dumbledore's patented lecturing mode.

"Have a seat," he invited.

Dumbledore conjured a squashy orange armchair at the corner of the kitchen table.

"I'll take a cup of tea, Remus," he said as he sat down.

Hermione bristled but Remus was already setting a teapot on the table along with the sugar bowl and a cup and saucer. Dumbledore poured himself a cup, humming distractedly.

"I need to talk to you about your actions of Monday night."

Despite the headmaster's seeming inattention, Harry knew that he was under scrutiny. His eyes narrowed and he made an effort to keep his voice level when he replied, "I thought you might want to talk about that."

"You put your own safety and the safety of the entire wizarding world in jeopardy when you left your aunt's home."

"I was taking my own safety into account when I left," Harry objected. "Or, at least, my mental health. I wasn't staying in that house when I had the chance not to."

Dumbledore sighed and fixed Harry with the weight of his disappointed stare. "I know that relations between yourself and your aunt have never been particularly loving but can you not see how much safer you are under her roof?"

"The Dursleys despise me," Harry stated.

"Surely you don't mean that," Dumbledore coaxed. "They may never have been very demonstrative of their affection for you-"

"They resented my presence in their house and they made sure that I knew it. I was just a house elf to them. They didn't even meet the most basic standard of care for a child." Resentment and anger at years spent in a cupboard, friendless and alone, welled up inside him. "I have never felt so betrayed as I did in your office when you told me that you knew what they were like. You knew before you left me there that they would hate me, and you still dumped me on their doorstep with the milk bottles."

"Remus, talk some sense into him," Dumbledore entreated.

"He's already seeing sense." He tried not to let any venom slip into his voice but his anger simmered just below the surface. "How can you send your students back to spend their summers with family who hate them? And why do you think it's acceptable? I've seen you do it before. You ignore the reports from your teachers and-"

"If this about you, Remus, you know that there was nothing I could do."

"This isn't about me! I wasn't expecting anything from you. But you could have stepped in for Sirius when he confided in you, or for Davey Gudgeon. There was nothing stopping you from removing them from their parents."

"There was no cause to remove Sirius," Dumbledore explained. "The Black family would fight for one of their own and he was never physically harmed."

"But he could have been! Every year, you sent him back and every year they treated him worse."

Remus remembered the Howlers that increased in viciousness with every passing term, the worry on Sirius' face at every Hogwarts Leaving Feast, the summer weight loss and the shadows under his eyes when he returned to Kings Cross every September. He remembered every little hint painfully clearly- he had been so shocked that a wizard could be treated that way.

"Sirius did not need any help," Dumbledore said. "It would have been too expensive politically to fight for custody of him and he was perfectly capable of helping himself if his home situation became too...difficult."

"What gives you the right to make that decision!"

"I rather think you are crossing the line here, Remus," Dumbledore said calmly, and the werewolf stopped short. He cast an uncertain glance at Harry and then shut his mouth with a click of teeth.

"I don't think any lines have been crossed," Harry proclaimed, leaning back in his chair. "Remus has a point. Who appointed you judge, jury and executioner? You're the headmaster of my school, nothing more. Now I have done the same thing Sirius did and freed myself from my family. You trusted him to leave if his situation became unbearable. Why don't you trust my judgement when it comes to doing the same thing?"

"Don't you think that you are being over-dramatic?"

"No, I don't think I am."

A silent battle of wills raged between the two of them, for seconds that dragged on and on.

"I am never going back to the Dursleys," Harry declared. "And no one has any right to try and force me."

The heavy gaze of Albus Dumbledore focused on him, bright blue eyes seeming to peer into his very soul. "It is most unfortunate that you feel that way. I would have thought that, after the whole Department of Mysteries affair, you would appreciate the value of the blood wards."

"How can I, when I don't even know how they work?"

"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that you have powerful protection while you can still call your aunt's house home. However miserable you have been there, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, been allowed houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment you turn seventeen."

"You mean, the moment I come of age."

Hermione gasped. "Harry's emancipated! He's already an adult."

The hairs on the back of Remus' neck rose as Dumbledore's scent turned calculating. The crafty gleam in his eyes was unmistakeable to him, who had been swept up in the tides of the wizard's changing opinions too many times over the past three decades. The old man was scheming and that often signalled catastrophe for those in his way.

"You have grown up, these last few months," he concluded. "I'm sorry that I didn't see it until now. You are right, of course."

Dumbledore hadn't considered that the wards would now be worthless, Remus realised. He was trying to salvage the situation and regain Harry's fragile trust.

"I would like to extend my invitation for you to join the Order, though there was not yet been a vote amongst the current members over your admittance. I think you will find, however, that most will be eager to welcome you to the fight."

"Why now?"

"As you have so rightly said, you are now a legal adult. You have matured greatly and you are already involved in this war. Nothing is to be gained by keeping information from you, and there is everything to lose."

_Like Sirius_, Remus thought bitterly.

"May I join?" Hermione asked.

"You are underage, Miss Granger. I cannot accept you as a member until you are seventeen. No, no, I will hear no arguments to the contrary. You will have your chance when you come of age. You will have to be patient until then."

The look on his face brooked no argument.


	10. Chapter 10: The Meeting

"What on _Earth_ are you reading?"

Remus, who had been hoping to go unnoticed for a while longer, looked up into the cold eyes of the eldest Black sister. He gambled that she would not scold him for it in front of the Order. Just by her sneering tone, it was obvious that she was already in a terrible mood.

"Semi-Legal Bludgeoning Hexes for Novices," he admitted.

"Give it here," Andromeda ordered, and he reluctantly handed it over. Her perfect nails closed round the dusty cover. She flicked to a random page and scanned it. "The Ministry would have your head if they saw you reading this."

"I'm not going to use any of them."

"I didn't suggest you were," she said, bitingly.

By this time, the nearer Order members had lapsed in their own conversations and were bearing witness to the exchange.

"Did Mr Potter say you can read this?" she asked, with one raised eyebrow.

"Harry said I can read whatever I like."

"Hmm." Disapproval spiked in her scent. "Well, I shall be returning this to him."

The book slid into her handbag, rustling against the skirts of her robes.

Kingsley opened his mouth to protest but Remus caught his eye and warned him off with a shake of the head. Andromeda strode off to the other end of the table. She didn't notice as the Auror leaned closer.

"You don't have to put up with her, you know. You should have let me say something."

"It's not worth making a scene over," Remus said.

"She can't just treat you like a disobedient child."

"Kingsley. Please, just leave it."

The Auror looked like he wanted to argue the point further but Remus stared him down.

"If I have everyone's attention," Dumbledore said pointedly. "I would like to call this meeting to order."

Silence fell throughout the kitchen of the Burrow and the headmaster smiled.

"Our first point on the agenda is to vote on whether to include Harry Potter as a member. He has recently reached adulthood, as we are all aware, and has expressed a wish to join the fight."

Molly Weasley was on her feet like a shot. "Absolutely not! He's not even sixteen!"

Tonks shook her head. "Voldemort is after him. At least if he's in the Order he'll know what's going on. Being better informed will give him a higher chance of surviving this war."

"Well said," Mad-Eye agreed. "Know your enemy. The lad needs all the help he can get."

"What do you think, Arthur?" Dumbledore questioned.

"Harry's a good lad, and it seems that he's matured a lot since Christmas. He's part of this war already and he's proved himself to be as able as any of us. He saved my life at Christmas, Molly. Without him, I wouldn't even be here."

"If Harry had been kept well-informed in the past, the whole débâcle in the Department of Mysteries would never have happened," Remus chipped in.

"I hardly think _your_ voice should count," Andromeda said disdainfully. "You're _obviously_ just going to vote the way Harry wants you to."

"Remus is quite capable of having his own opinions!" Emmeline snapped.

"Of course he is. But he isn't capable of acting on them, or even voicing them."

He felt his face flush red, as half of the Order turned to him, looking for confirmation. He couldn't meet their eyes.

"Lupin has always had a vote at meetings," Snape said evenly.

"And he has always voted the same way as Sirius," Andromeda countered. "I understood the need for the deception before but it hardly seems fair now that Harry should have an extra vote. Especially if we want to exclude him from the group. Remus here is his own personal spy."

"So we include Harry, or Remus has to go?" Hestia paraphrased. "That's dragon dung!"

"I don't know," Moody said. "I think Andromeda may have a point."

Tonks looked betrayed as her mentor sided with her mother. "How can you say that?"

"Remus deserves a vote as much as any of the rest of us," Emmeline said.

Andromeda rolled her eyes, as if she thought them all idiots. "It's not about giving the wolf a vote! He doesn't have a vote anyway- he physically _can't_ go against Harry's wishes. It's about whether Harry's opinion should have double-weight in our decision making."

"Don't call Remus that!" Tonks erupted, at the same time as Emmeline and Hestia raised their own loud objections.

"I would never have thought you so prejudiced, Andromeda Tonks," McGonagall scolded, in a tone that had most often preceded the assignment of multiple detentions during the Marauders' school days.

Ever practical, Kingsley Shacklebolt began to list every incident he could think of in which Lupin had proved an invaluable asset to the group and finished his rendition with the assertion that if Lupin was ejected from the group then he would resign. Moody's rant about security leaks soared above every other voice and Remus' defenders clamoured to make themselves heard. Within two minutes, chaos reigned and increasingly scathing insults were slung.

"Andromeda's facts are, nevertheless, correct," Dumbledore bellowed, taking the fire from the argument and plunging them into silence.

"Are you all quite finished now?" Remus said, quietly.

Most of them had the grace to look ashamed. He made sure to catch Severus' eye and let him know that he appreciated the effort. It didn't seem to lessen the cloud of misery hanging over the wizard. Andromeda's glare could have been bottled and sold as liquid Avada Kedavra.

The headmaster smiled indulgently over all of them. "Now that you have stopped acting like children, are we agreed that Remus should lose voting rights?"

Everyone, excluding Andromeda and Dumbledore, looked queasy as they raised their hands in agreement. Severus sat with his arms crossed, grumpy, and Tonks also refused to vote in favour. Emmeline and Hestia shot guilty looks in Remus' direction.

"It isn't really fair if you have to vote the same way as Harry," Emmeline apologised softly.

When Dumbledore asked for dissenting votes, Remus raised his hand and he distinctly heard the potion master's muffled snort of laughter.

"Nice try, Remus," the headmaster smiled. "But I think you'll find that you have been outvoted."

"Darn," he said, with a theatrical sigh. "What an unexpected turn of events."

"Quite," Dumbledore said demurely, and turned the discussion back to their original topic.

Arguments for and against Harry's inclusion in the group were bandied about. The energy seemed to have gone from the meeting after Dumbledore's put-down and the atmosphere was quite subdued.

"Now, who agrees that Harry should join us as an official member?"

Remus noted who raised their hands so he would be ready to inform Harry if asked. Mrs Weasley, Hestia Jones, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape cast the only no votes.

"Good. Harry will be joining us at the next meeting then."

A sharp spike of excitement caught Remus by surprise. He looked to his left and saw Dedalus Diggle teetering on the edge of his seat, grinning. He was hard pressed not to groan. He had forgotten that the man was a raging fan. He would need to warn Harry.

"Now to our main purpose for this evening."

Dumbledore fell into silent contemplation. To his left, Minerva McGonagall rolled her eyes at his dramatic pause.

"Well, old man?" Moody barked. "What is it?"

Dumbledore feigned annoyance at Moody's impoliteness but Remus could smell that he was pleased. The wizard had always liked to play to an audience and it seemed that would never change.

"The events of last month showed me that we have been complacent about our own skills. We were lucky that there was only one fatality, and there is much we have to learn if we are to face Voldemort's supporters in open battle. It also seems that they may try to pick us off, one by one, as happened in the last war. The failed attack on Emmeline illustrates that this plan may already be in action. We need to improve. We need to learn from past mistakes and adapt."

There was a murmur of agreement.

"In the coming weeks, I will be rebuilding our network of safe houses across Britain and Ireland. The time may come when we all need to go to ground. I shall offer these houses to any Order member who is in need of one and, in the meantime, I suggest you enhance your security arrangements. It would not do to lose one of our number to the enemy.

"Tonight, we shall be reviewing the events at the Department of Mysteries in my pensieve," Dumbledore stated. "I have already received permission from Mr Potter to show his own memory of that night, and I think it would be beneficial if we can analyse our actions from as many points of view as possible. Do you all agree to show your memories?"

The aurors quickly gave their consent, used to the procedure, which was often used in law enforcement. They each produced vials from their pockets, extracted the relevant memories expertly and passed the containers over the Dumbledore. Remus had never seen Tonks display such professionalism. She didn't once look on the verge of dropping her little glass.

The exercise was a useful one, he noted to himself as the memories played out. Harry's memories were painful viewing, coloured as they were by the desperate urge to save Sirius. The seasoned Order members admitted that they were impressed by the teenager's leadership qualities and quick reflexes, and the less experienced members drank in any advice.

Remus felt physically ill as they witnessed Bellatrix Lestrange mocking Harry's loss and the scene only worsened when the Dark Lord appeared. Never had he felt so kindly towards Albus Dumbledore than he did when the old wizard swept in, wand blazing, and saved the day. The skill and power displayed was awesome to behold. Several of the witches were in tears by the time Harry reached out for the portkey Dumbledore offered him and the scene dissolved into mist around them. The nightmarish sight of Sirius falling through the veil danced before Remus' eyes even as he reorientated himself in Molly's kitchen, and he felt his nails cutting into his palms and drawing blood.

Mad-Eye Moody spent the entire duration of his memory berating himself for perceived errors that no one else would have possibly deemed important. Tonks and Kingsley both glowed with pride every time Moody paid them a compliment and scowled at his numerous corrections. Remus didn't understand why they put so much faith in the supposed wisdom of one paranoid old man. Didn't they realise that they shouldn't trust anyone absolutely? Didn't they realise that, in the end, they could only rely on themselves?

The entire Order witnessed Mrs Tonks' hysteria after seeing her daughter felled by her estranged sister. The witch latched onto Tonks' arm and didn't calm down until Snape pressed a Calming Draught onto her. Tonks seemed quite alarmed at this public display.

Too soon, it was Remus' turn to add his memory to the shallow stone basin. He hesitated to remove the precious recollections, not because the event was dear to him but because he knew he was being forced. Despite the fact that he would be helping the Order, all he could think of was the violation of being asked to do this when Dumbledore knew he could not refuse. Harry had sanctioned the activity when he gave his own memory and what was Remus' was now Harry's. He was acutely aware that even his thoughts weren't private. If Harry agreed with Dumbledore, Remus could not go against those wishes.

"Go on then, wolf," Andromeda prodded.

His hand trembled as he withdrew the memory, and the silver strand glistened with a strange dark thread. The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dulled when he saw the hint of darkness but he did not comment. Instead, with an all-encompassing wave of his arms, he invited them all to join him in the pensieve.

They found themselves, for the fifth time that day, in the Death Chamber of the Department of Mysteries. They stood on a wide ledge towards the top of the stepped room and the noise from the floor below was amplified as it funnelled up to their high vantage point. The shape of the room was similar to an amphitheatre and words spoken on the dais were clear to them.

"It's so _loud_," Hestia said, rubbing her ears.

"He's a werewolf," Snape sneered. "What did you expect?"

"I can hear that Death Eater breathing," she said, pointing to a hooded figure ten feet away. "Remus' hearing can't really be this good?"

"It depends how close I am to a transformation," Remus explained. "For a couple of days before and after the full moon, it's drastically better."

"How much better could it possibly be?" Moody muttered, obviously not realising that the werewolf could hear him.

"A lot better. If this was the day before a full moon, I would be able to hear every time your heart beats at the distance you are from me now."

Moody jumped and Tonks sniggered. She received a glare from her mentor.

"Disrespectful brat," he murmured.

"If we could focus our attentions on the content of the memories," Dumbledore said pointedly.

They turned to their analysis and, despite himself, Remus felt some anxiety. He tried to tell himself that he didn't care what these humans thought of him, but it was a lie. He didn't want to give Moody proof that he was a spineless pushover. He didn't want Emmeline and Hestia to think him weak. He didn't want them to look at him with contempt in their eyes as Sirius had, for being a werewolf and unable to defend himself.

The Remus of the memory ducked Dark spells as he sent out a barrage of stunners. Looking closely, the present day Order members could see that he focused his efforts on the greatest threats to Sirius. He crouched on the steps, dodging hexes with frightening agility, yet did not return any spell fire. Instead, he picked off the Death Eaters on the chamber floor with sniper-level accuracy, felling Rookwood just as the Unspeakable started to incant a crucio aimed at Sirius.

"That's really impressive," Kingsley muttered. Mad-Eye nodded in approval.

"He can't afford to be sloppy with his aim," Andromeda pointed out.

A shoelace-tieing hex sent a Death Eater sprawling down several steps, face-first.

"Creative use of non-lethal spells," Mad-Eye assented.

"Silencio!"

The silencing charm rocketed downwards and caught Lucius Malfoy in the chest. The spell he was incanting puttered out before it had left the end of his wand. An expelliarmus sent the wand flying across the floor and Remus moved on to his next target. The Death Eaters he had felled quickly rejoined the fight, revived by their comrades.

The werewolf was so focused on protecting Sirius' back, that he did not hear the Death Eater sneaking up on him.

"What have we here?" A cold voice drawled from behind the mask. "A little werewolf defending its owner."

Remus froze and turned towards the source of the comment, already lowering his wand. Moody growled.

"In the Ministry of Magic, with a wand in hand," the Death Eater jeered. "What shall we do with you?"

The Cruciatus caught the onlookers by surprise, and several of the witches gasped as Remus fell heavily to the floor. His wand slipped from his fingers. His limbs twitched as he lay on the dark steps, curled in on himself, and after several seconds he began to scream. The drawn out note of agony echoed round the chamber but none of the Order fighters looked up. The deadly engagement below continued without missing a beat.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Death Eater lifted the curse.

"Fight back, dammit," Moody said.

Remus' anger flared. "I couldn't. Unless he attacked Sirius, I had no right to raise a finger against him."

Moody looked down his nose in sheer disgust. "That's the most spineless thing I've ever heard."

Remus bit his lip, struggling to keep his mouth shut instead of starting to yell. Moody didn't know how impossible it was for him to consciously disobey that rule. He didn't know the misery of being subject to a slavery bond. He didn't understand that sometimes resistance just wasn't possible. Resistance was a luxury of the fully-human.

He turned his attention back to the memory version of himself, stubbornly refusing to plead with the Death Eater. A trickle of blood on his forehead marked where he had hit his head off the ground.

"Do you think you're better than those other wolves?" his attacker hissed. "Just because you belong to a Light wizard? Too proud to beg. Too spoiled to know your place."

With an imperious, he forced the werewolf into a kneeling position in front of him.

"What a shame you won't live to see us kill your precious master and his friends."

The Death Eater released the hold of the imperious curse but Remus did not move from the submissive position. His fear was clearly evident in his ashen complexion. Another Cruciatus struck him and the sound which tore from his throat sent Emmeline into floods of tears. He thrashed around under the overbearing force of the torture curse, helpless against the renewed assault. He screamed until his voice seized up and then his screams turned silent.

When the torture stopped, the Death Eater stepped closer and rammed his boot into Remus' ribs.

"I'm going to kill you now," he pronounced. "You should thank me, wolf. That's what you all want, isn't it?"

The sound of Remus' harsh, ragged breathing filled their ears, amplified beyond belief by the filter of werewolf hearing.

"Not going to answer? But I forgot- you can't ask for it, can you? Never mind- the pain will be over soon."

The Death Eater raised his wand and pointed it directly at the werewolf.

"_Avada Ked-_"

As the watching Order members gasped, a stray spell from the dais caught the man in the side of the head and he crumpled, knocked unconscious.

Remus didn't move. His body trembled and twitched with the after-effects of the curse. He remained curled up where he had fallen and a soft keening sound reached their ears. A single tear dropped onto the step. Over his head, spells continued to flash. The pitched battle taking place below waged on. He did not move.

For several long minutes, he did nothing but lie where he had fallen, shuddering. It began to seem that he wasn't going to get up. Exhaustion and agony were written clearly across his features. His limbs racked with Cruciatus after-pains, he let the battle wage on around him until Sirius' voice, laden with desperation, cut through the noise of spell fire.

"Harry, take the prophecy, grab Neville and run!"

This seemed to startle Remus into action. He flexed his fingers, pressed his palms against the floor and levered himself up, struggling for breath.

"Sirius," he gasped.

They could see the effort and sheer willpower required for him to get back on his feet. He looked like his legs might collapse beneath him at first. His wild eyes scanned the room frantically until he found his target.

Bellatrix and Sirius were duelling on the dais. The witch's face was contorted into a mask of rage and her cousin dodged or deflected everything that came his way with an insane grin.

Hobbling down the steps, Remus was intent on the duel. He dodged incoming spell fire automatically, not returning fire but shooting off some stunners at the hooded wizards trying to aim spells at Sirius' back. A cutting hex glanced his left shoulder but he shrugged it off and kept moving. He passed Tonks' crumpled form, slumped over two stone tiers. Stumbling off the final step, he threw himself towards the dais.

Rubble and debris littered the stone floor. He huddled behind a boulder someone had conjured to provide cover, pressing his shoulder against the rough surface, and waited until his line of sight was clear enough to make a move. As Sirius dodged a dismemberment hex, Remus trained his wand on his target and slowly managed to steady his hand. He sent an incarcerous at the Lestrange witch, followed quickly by a stunner and two Levicorpus jinxes, but she ably deflected all of them. The volley of non-lethal spells was enough for Sirius to realise that he was there.

"Remus!" Sirius shouted, not looking away from the fight. "Get Harry out of here!"

Sending one last hex at Bellatrix, Remus did not miss a beat as he turned to obey the order. Harry was pulling the Longbottom boy away from the dais with a firm grip and a steady stream of encouraging words. Lucius Malfoy stalked closer to the pair, murder written in his very posture,

Catching up as quickly as he could, Remus flung himself between Harry and Malfoy, throwing up a shield.

"Harry, round up the others and GO!"

Harry seized Neville by the shoulder of his robes and began to haul him up the steps. Remus kept an eye on their progress as he faced off against Voldemort's right-hand man. Malfoy's face twisted with cruelty as he sent bludgeoning curses slamming into the shield.

"You can't hold against me, wolf. Surrender now and I might kill you _before_ I skin you. A werewolf

pelt would make fine potions ingredients."

A cloud of silver darts shot through the air and Remus' eyes widened. Keeping his shield high, he threw himself to the ground and the darts missed him, though he cried out in pain as a few grazed his shield. Malfoy grinned as the magical backlash from touching silver coursed through the werewolf. He sent another barrage of darts, this time aiming to hit the shield.

Remus' eyes bulged and he stifled a scream as the metal burned across his magic. His strength gave out beneath the onslaught. His shield dropped just as a cry went up behind him.

"DUBBLEDORE!"

Malfoy's head shot up. Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Remus blanched and then Malfoy turned to run. Remus watched the man run straight into one of Kingsley's reductos and a smile lit his face. To his side, Bellatrix Lestrange's curse connected with her cousin as he laughed for the last time. The body fell back and disappeared through the tattered curtain.

The memory suddenly lurched and the edges of everything blurred. It was as if a distorted lens had been inserted between them and the scene, and the ground seemed to tilt away.

"What's happening?" Hestia said, panicked. "Is there something wrong with the pensieve?"

"Pensieves either work perfectly, or they work not at all," Dumbledore answered. "Perhaps Remus can provide some illumination on the subject. These are, after all, his memories."

"That was the bond breaking," Remus explained shakily. "My memory of everything after this point is a bit hazy."

"A bit hazy?" Kingsley echoed.

"The curse kicked in."

It was impossible to focus on anything, and they began to feel nauseous as they tried to follow what was going on. Patches of colour swirled past them. A red flash could have been a stunner, a burst of green light an Unforgivable, but none of them could tell in the confusion. Muddled shouts echoed round them on all sides. The only point of clarity was the figure of Remus himself, a source of stillness in the maelstrom. As Bellatrix's triumphant scream died away, the werewolf doubled over in agony. Trembling arms wrapped round his torso as he huddled in on himself, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

Harry's yells filled their ears, but his form was indistinguishable from the blurring background until Remus somehow found the strength to lurch forward and grab him around the chest, holding him back from the veil. Harry's anguish was painfully clear, written across his young features, and his eyes glistened.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry-"

"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"

"-it's too late, Harry."

"We can still reach him-" Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Remus did not let go.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry...nothing...he's gone," Remus said, voice breaking.

Emmeline clutched Hestia's hand, their eyes filling with tears. Minerva McGonagall pulled out her flowery lace handkerchief and sniffed miserably into it. Through the haze, they could barely hear the words Harry shouted.

"He can't come back, because he's d-"

"HE'S NOT DEAD! SIRIUS!"

From Harry's perspective, they hadn't noticed the strain in Remus' voice. Now, it was clear to all that he was struggling to hold himself together. His eyes were glassy and unfocused and his desperate grip on Harry looked to be taking all of his strength.

He dragged Harry away from the dais. The boy had quieted and watched the veil with an expression of anticipation and hope, which faded to fear and betrayal with every further step as he realised that his godfather was not going to re-emerge from that entrance to the beyond. Remus rested a hand on his shoulder still, in a precautionary grip, but it no longer seemed that Harry was going to go tearing off after Sirius Black.

Neville's voice broke the terrible silence.

"Harry? Harry...I'b really sorry..."

Harry nodded in response to his dorm mate. Remus took two attempts to release Neville's feet from the tap-dancing hex, hands trembling so much that he almost dropped his wand.

"Let's- let's find the others. Where are they all, Neville?"

He turned away from the archway as he spoke. It sounded as though every word was causing him pain. The present day Remus squirmed as he remembered the mind-numbing, all-consuming agony of being unbonded, knowing that he could not possibly recollect that level of sensation- the feel of death tearing through his veins.

Neville was speaking again but he was interrupted by a loud bang and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The deranged laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange made them wince and Andromeda Tonks clutched her daughter's shoulder with an iron grip. Harry raced away in pursuit and a chorus of shouts followed him. Dumbledore felled one last Death Eater with and shouted that he was going to follow.

Mad-Eye Moody had revived Tonks, who could now be heard screaming counter-curses over Kingsley's yells of pain.

"I'll do it, lass," Moody growled. "I've seen this one before."

Kingsley stopped yelling abruptly.

"You alright, Shacklebolt?"

"I'm fine," Kingsley breathed. "Fine. Thank you, Alastor."

"Let's get this scum up to the Auror Office," Moody said.

"Remus!" Kingsley called. "Come and give us a hand!"

The werewolf barely seemed to hear the auror's request. He was almost swaying on his feet and his fingers twitched with the after-effects of the torture curse. His eyes lingered on the blurred form of the stone archway and he raised a hand to his temples, grimacing.

"Let him be," Moody muttered. "Sirius is...Sirius was his best friend."

The older version of the grizzled old Auror winced at the words. "I'm sorry, Lupin. I didn't realise you could hear that."

"No one thinks very much about what they say round werewolves," Remus said flatly. "I've heard a lot worse."

It was hard to get worked up about it while he could clearly see the distress of his past self. He watched, hairs standing on end, as the Remus Lupin of weeks ago collapsed on the bottommost step and put his head in his hands.

The room quieted. His fellow Order members dragged away the bound Death Eaters. Moody's wooden leg tapped across the stone floor and then he was alone. He sat in the heart of the Minisitry of Magic, reeling in shock and pain, with a wand illegally stowed in his pocket.

His ears caught the footsteps of an approaching figure and the blur gradually turned into a stern Albus Dumbledore.

"Is Harry alright?"

"Mr Potter came to no permanent harm. He has been removed to Hogwarts and is none the worse for his ordeal."

Remus shook his head feebly. "But Sirius...Sirius is..."

Dumbledore rested a hand on his shoulder. "Best you head up to the Creatures Department."

"Professor, please-"

His face was pale and the Order members could see him trembling.

"It's the best place for you. Go."

"Headmaster, _please_," he pleaded. "Don't make-"

"Go, or I'll drag you up there." His tone turned harsh and threatening. "I've not got time for you right now. Go before someone sees you."

The Order members bristled and the pensieve image dissolved around them. They floated through inky blackness, and then the Burrow's kitchen materialised around them.


	11. Chapter 11: Wolf, Rat and Dog

Chapter Eleven- Wolf, Rat and Dog

Harry remained within the confines of the Burrow over the next few weeks. Ron had still not said a word to him and Hermione had buried herself in a pile of books that had arrived by owl order. Ginny kept trying to entice him into playing Quidditch, so it was no surprise that he spent so much time in Lupin's company, outdoors and away from prying eyes.

When he finally managed to apparate from one end of the garden to the other, the lessons turned to defence drills. Shooting over-powered spells at a conjured target helped his accuracy and stamina, and bled off some of his frustration with his friends. He imagined Bellatrix Lestrange's face on every target.

After four days of working through _the Standard Book of Spells Grade Six_ and hurling everything remotely useful in a fight at the dummy, the monotony was working on Harry's patience.

"I don't suppose we can have some duelling practice?" he asked hopefully, as Lupin conjured yet another straw target.

Raised eyebrows accompanied the reply. "Much as that sounds fun, I don't think you'd want to see the repercussions if I tried to turn my wand on you."

"Oh. I didn't think..." Harry's face screwed up in misery. "I'm sorry. I can't believe I didn't think of that."

"It's fine. Maybe Tonks or Kingsley will be willing to help out. But unless you goad them into attacking you for real, you won't be seeing any duelling from me."

"How did you pass your Defence OWL?"

"Dumbledore got me a medical exemption for class. I self-studied and I passed the exam fine."

This sounded a lot like Umbridge's mode of teaching and Harry couldn't believe Lupin had actually made it work. Though he supposed that no duelling practise was not the same as no practical preparation. Lupin wouldn't have entered the exam scenario having never cast the spells before.

"I hope our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is halfway decent this year. If another one turns out to be a Death Eater..."

When Lupin left to help Mrs Weasley at mealtimes, Harry reviewed some of his defence textbooks and noted down reference books that he wanted to look for in the library at Grimmauld Place. He hadn't figured out all the details yet, but he was considering using a library trip as an excuse to escape Mrs Weasley's custody and go to Gringotts to draw up a will. The issue weighed on his mind and he was aware that the chances of Remus outliving him were high. Voldemort was going to keep targetting the last of the Potters until the prophecy was fufilled and Harry didn't want to face another survival situation with the knowledge that Lupin's continued existence depended on his own.

Despite the problems of his will, the prophecy, and Ron and Ginny's attitudes, Harry couldn't help but relax under the feeble warmth of the July sun. Working his way through his books gave him reassurance that he was improving and that one day he might stand a chance against Voldemort. In the meantime, he was determined to enjoy his first few weeks of freedom from the Dursleys.

He would have been happier had it not been for the stories of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths now appearing almost daily in the _Prophet_. Sometimes Bill and Mr Weasley brought home news before it even reached the paper. To Mrs Weasley's displeasure, Harry's sixteenth birthday celebrations were marred by grisly tidings brought to the party by Nymphadora Tonks. She looked far from her normal self, with a pale drawn face and mousey hair, and her manner was grave as she accepted a plate of mini quiche and pigs-in-blanket.

"Karkaroff's been found dead in a shack somewhere up north. I didn't get all the details, but it looks like You-Know-Who finally caught up with him."

"He was found under the Dark Mark?" Hermione asked, clutching a paper cup so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

Tonks nodded. "I'm surprised he lasted so long."

"Sirius' brother, Regulus, only lasted a few days, if I remember rightly," Remus said.

He leaned on a cane as he tucked into a large slice of birthday cake. An ugly cut across his forehead was crusted over with blood and he looked frail and unsteady in the aftermath of the full moon. Everyone had been pointedly ignoring these signs of lycanthropy since Harry had helped him hobble back into the Burrow at ten o'clock that morning.

"Yes, well," said Mrs Weasley, frowning, "perhaps we should talk about something different."

There was little cheerful news to discuss. Even Harry could not dredge up any happiness at being another year older. It seemed like this one was going to be no better than the last. Between Florian Fortescue and Ollivander disappearing, people going into hiding left, right and centre, and the Minister's over-zealous stance on security, it seemed like the entire Wizarding world was tearing apart at the seams. Nothing could distract him from his worry, and on top of that, the gory images that had greeted him that morning swirled round his head without pause.

He didn't know where Lupin had found the strength to pick himself up off the blood-soaked floor, never mind feign interest in dinner party conversation only hours later. Underneath his crumpled shirt, swathes of bandages covered weeping claw and bite marks, the lasting reminder of the werewolf's rage at finding itself trapped and without prey. The damage looked so bad that Harry had panicked initially but Lupin had assured him, through a haze of tiredness and blood loss, that the injuries were no worse than normal. By the time Harry apparated them back to the Burrow, the wounds had been cleaned and dressed, and no one else was any the wiser. He wondered how many times over the years Lupin had been concealing similar injuries during their conversations together.

It was, without a doubt, the gloomiest birthday celebration he had ever heard of. Half of the Order turned out but they gathered in clusters and talked in hushed tones, grim-faced. A few of them congratulated him on joining their ranks, Mad-Eye Moody offered survival advice for a solid twenty minutes and Andromeda Tonks pulled him aside to shove a book at him and give him tips about dealing with werewolves. He spent the full conversation feeling sickened by her belief that Lupin was sub-human and needed to be taught respect. It was hard to reconcile this side of her personality with the easy-going witch who popped round for dinner several times a week and charmed them all into light, entertaining conversation. If not for her occasional jibe at Lupin, he would have thought her just as fun and bubbly as her daughter. She didn't seem like the sort of person to harbour such horrible prejudices.

Everyone was starting to bid goodnight and turn in by the time Tonks properly acknowledged Remus' presence. She set her coffee mug down beside the sink as soon as her mother left and sidled over to the werewolf.

"Remus," she said, grabbing a hold of his arm. "May I speak with you? Outside?"

She was nervous, and with his senses still heightened after the transformation he could hear the overly fast beating of her heart. He squashed the thrill that rose up at the thought, even as his mouth started to water. The errant instincts of his inner wolf were always strong on the first day of the cycle and she smelled like very tempting prey.

He followed her into the garden, smelling wet grass and the breeze rolling off the moors. It helped mask the scent of her flesh and he relaxed a little as the temptation ebbed. She stopped halfway to the end of the wards but did not turn to face him, instead looking up to the patch of sky visible through the racing clouds.

He smiled at the sight of the waning moon despite his unease. There was an entire cycle until his next transformation. No matter how exhausted and injured he felt at the moment, he had a month's reprieve. All he had to do was swim through tonight's haze and then he could rest up. A sleep on the couch seemed infinitely more appealing than standing here in the dark with Andromeda Tonks' daughter.

"I've always admired you, Remus. You're so brave. I don't think I even knew how brave until this summer."

Her voice was low, soft and gentle, and a human would have had to strain his ears to hear. Remus heard her heartbeat quicken under the words. He didn't know how to reply to this confession. He didn't feel brave at all. Could your actions be brave if you had no choice? He frowned, wondering where she was going with this.

"I've never been as brave as you are. I was so scared to tell you before, but I realised when Sirius died that...we shouldn't leave things unspoken when we care about someone."

His breath caught as he grasped her meaning and a wave of panic rushed through him. "This really isn't appropriate."

Her eyes flashed and hurt spiked in her scent. "Why not? Because you're a werewolf? That's ridiculous!"

"I'm not being ridiculous," he said steadily. "It's not possible, Tonks."

"I know what you're going to say. But I don't care that you're older than me, or that you're a werewolf. I love you, and I want to be with you."

"Do you have any idea what you are saying?" he hissed.

"Of course I do, and you can forget all those convenient arguments you are lining up, just because you are too scared and too sensible to follow your heart. We are meant for each other and you can't deny it."

He hid his hands in his pockets so she wouldn't see them trembling. "Your mother would be horrified if she could hear you now."

"I don't care what she thinks! Maybe I did once, but that was before I knew how...how she really is. Don't you want me, Remus?"

She made as if to grab the front of his robes and he took a step backwards, stomach clenching in fear.

"Don't touch me!" he blurted out, panicked.

He didn't feel bad for her rejected feelings- he was still reeling from shock, fright and disgust.

"Fine. I'm willing to wait for you. When you come to your senses, let me know."

She disappeared into the night and he stared after, heart racing.

Hermione awoke abruptly from a dream of Death Eaters and walls of flame. Her sheets clung to her sweat-soaked legs and she kicked them off, heart pounding. Her hair was plastered to the back of her neck and her face burned.

It was the third time in a week.

She checked her watch. While the hour was still early, too early for any Weasleys to be up, she knew that Lupin was an early riser. He would be willing to pour her hot chocolate and help her talk out her nightmares, as he already had so often over the past weeks. He would turn down the radio until the volume was too low to be heard, though never switch it off entirely, and then he would give her his full, undivided attention.

He made her feel safe. Just sharing her worries with someone lessened the fear. The fear that Dolohov had shown her for the first time. The fear of falling at the hand of some masked Death Eater. The fear that her parents could be in the firing line simply for their connection to her. Lupin always knew just what to say to comfort her.

The stairs creaked under her footfalls as she slipped downstairs.

The kitchen lay silent. She crept in on stockinged feet and poured herself a glass of water.

Lupin lay curled up on the couch in a protective ball. He had been using his robes as a blanket and they were askew and half on the floor, revealing the upper portion of his too-skinny torso. A bandage was wrapped round his ribs and dark spots of blood were beginning to soak through the white linen. His face looked incredibly pale in the pre-dawn light filtering though the windows and his eyelids twitched restlessly.

_Of course_, she thought, _there was a full moon the night before last._

She lowered herself into an armchair, clutching her glass close, and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. The scars she had tried so hard not to gape at during the hair-dyeing incident were clearly visible, twisting like spider webs over every inch of bare flesh. It was impossible to distinguish one scar from another.

By the time anyone else in the Burrow stirred, the first post owl had arrived and she was reading the Daily Prophet at the kitchen table.

"Morning," Harry yawned.

She hushed him quickly. "Lupin's still asleep."

"He won't wake. He's too tired and hurt. He should have been sleeping it off yesterday but he felt he needed to keep appearances up for the Order."

"Did he tell you that?" she asked. She wouldn't have expected him to share something like that- he always seemed to value his privacy so much.

Harry slipped onto the bench and rested his elbows on the table, inspecting the werewolf's sleeping form.

"The book I got from the Ministry told me everything I need to know," he said, darkly.

"What is that meant to mean?" she said. "You sound like-"

"It's awful, Hermione. Really. You can't imagine how bad the transformations are for him, and how scared he must be of each one. There's a reason the full moon is his boggart. Didn't you think it strange that something he faces every month is the thing he fears most?"

"I hadn't thought about it," she admitted. "He told us before, didn't he? When we were in the Shrieking Shack, he said his transformations while he was at school were terrible."

"That doesn't even begin to describe it," Harry said with a haunted expression.

"What about the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"The potion has some...side-effects, and the more doses a werewolf consumes, the worse the damage. It's only recommended for use in special cases and Remus took Wolfsbane for almost an entire school year."

"What sort of damage?" Hermione said. "Professor Lupin wouldn't have taken a potion that is dangerous."

"Maybe he wasn't given any choice at first. Maybe it was part of Dumbledore's rules for him teaching at Hogwarts. It_ does _make him safer. Then after he'd had a few doses, he felt the side-effects but he was still made to take the potion. As long as he kept taking a dose before each full moon, the symptoms were suppressed, so the problem also became a type of 'cure'."

"Addiction. You're describing a potion addiction."

"It's not as dramatic as that," Harry frowned. "There are no cravings or withdrawal symptoms. Wolfsbane's not addictive. I can't describe it any better without telling you what the negative effects are."

"Then why don't you tell me?"

He shook his head. "It's restricted information. I'd be in trouble if the Ministry found out I'd even told you this much but I wanted you to know why I won't go running to Professor Snape to buy Wolfsbane Potion."

A troop of Weasleys traipsed in, closely followed by an immaculately dressed Fleur Delacour.

"I knew I couldn't smell breakfast cooking," Mrs Weasley said, sounding strangely smug.

Her eyes fell on the werewolf curled up on her couch.

"It's not like Remus to sleep in," she frowned.

"He was exhausted yesterday. I told him to sleep as long as he liked," Harry explained.

"He doesn't look great," Fred said, buttering his roll.

"He transformed into a werewolf two nights ago," Hermione snapped. "Of course he doesn't look well."

A round of bickering kicked off as George defended his twin. Fleur rolled her eyes and helped an unappreciative Mrs Weasley with the breakfast preparations. Harry gained an insight into Hermione's reading material of the last few weeks as she gave a very detailed lecture on historical cases of werewolves being killed by muggles and wizards alike in the hours after the full moon because they were too weakened to escape.

"Here you go, dear," Mrs Weasley interrupted.

Harry hesitated as he accepted his plate of scrambled eggs on toast. Remus' warning about love potions rose to mind but the longer they stayed at the Burrow the more convinced they were becoming that there was an innocent explanation. He trusted Mrs Weasley more now than he had for weeks. Surely he could bring himself to eat food she had made for him unsupervised?

Hesitantly, he scooped up a forkful of egg and started to eat.

"I thought Professor Lupin transfigures the couch into a bed?" Ginny said. "That doesn't look very comfortable."

"He must have been too tired to do any magic," Harry realised. "I should have asked..."

Every few days, he discovered yet another little thing that he had overlooked in providing for Lupin. The werewolf rarely asked for anything but Harry felt that he had been spectacularly blind when it came to providing all of the unimportant courtesies that might make Lupin feel more comfortable. He had even started to go through the manual again with a fine-tooth comb to suss out where he was going wrong. The werewolf had seemed much happier when Harry granted him permission to apparate between Grimmauld Place and the Burrow whenever he wanted.

When breakfast was over and most of the adults had dispersed to their various places of work, Harry shrugged off Ginny's friendly advances and followed Hermione upstairs, intent on quizzing her for more knowledge on the history of werewolves. Mrs Weasley turned on the WWN and listened happily to Celestina Warbeck as she gathered up the dishes and set them to wash themselves.

Curled up on the couch, Remus Lupin twisted and turned, caught in the land of dreaming. His lips moved with silent words and his eyelids twitched as his sleep was less than restful.

_After thirteen years of separation, he stood in the same room as his owner. Gone was the arrogant young wizard, handsome and vain. Gone were the designer robes, perfectly groomed hair and superior expression. Sirius Black was a broken man._

_Ill-fitting prison robes hung from his emaciated frame and the smell radiating from the man was that of a wounded and trapped animal. He was unhinged, unbalanced and probably dangerous. His eyes narrowed as they fell on the werewolf._

_There was dislike and relief in that gaze, and also the weight of command. For an instant, Remus froze under his owner's attention. On the way here, rushing along that hated tunnel, he had been excited about seeing Sirius again but now he remembered the last time he had seen the man, huddled in a squalid cell in Azkaban prison. Even after only a few days, the exposure to Dementors had been taking its toll. Remus' wand wavered and his eyes flickered over the squalid room. The youngest Weasley boy's leg was broken, Granger cowered near the door and Harry...Harry had his wand trained on Sirius with rage, hurt and cold determination radiating from him._

"_Expelliarmus!" Remus shouted, hating himself as Harry's wand flew through the air, along with the two the Granger girl had been holding. He caught them deftly, heart heavy as horror and fear spiked in the children. He couldn't let them harm Sirius though. They needed to catch Peter before the traitor could escape again._

_Voice shaking, he asked, "Where is he, Sirius?"_

_His master raised an arm and gestured towards the injured boy, slumped on the floor. Ron held a rat in his hands._

"_But then..." Lupin muttered. He stared at Sirius, desperate for any direction in how to deal with this. He stalled for time, trying to divine how he should handle the situation. To admit that he had known of Sirius' innocence would bring up far too many questions. If the children found out that he had been present when the Potters switched Secret Keepers, he would be unable to explain why no-one had believed him when he told the aurors. They could not know that he was a werewolf. "...why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless-" Sirius winked slightly in reassurance and he almost sighed with relief. He was on the right track. "-unless he was the one...unless you switched...without telling me?"_

_Very slowly, his sunken gaze never leaving Remus' face, Sirius nodded._

"_Professor Lupin," Harry interrupted loudly, "what's going..."_

_Even as he winced inwardly at the title, Remus was lowering his wand. He knew the game he had to play now. He knew his role, knew which part to follow. He walked to Sirius' side, pulled him to his feet and embraced him like a brother. Sirius returned the hug weakly._

"_I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" Granger screamed._

_Remus let go of Sirius and turned to her. She screeched her accusations in a hail of fury and he struggled to refute them. He knew this looked bad and he couldn't blame anyone for thinking the worst of him. His heart twisted as Harry's eyes widened at the revelation of his lycanthropy and he wanted to prove to James' son that he wasn't a beast, he wasn't a monster and he wasn't plotting with his parents' betrayer._

_When he said, "I haven't been Sirius' friend for twelve years", he silently amended the statement. He had not counted Sirius as a friend since they had both been sixteen years old. Their friendship had crumpled under the weight of betrayal, attempted murder and a brief shouting match. That didn't mean that the wizard deserved the blame of a muder he hadn't committed- a crime that had taken away his closest friends in one fell swoop._

_Remus shivered. "But I won't deny that I'm a werewolf."_

"_Get away from me, werewolf!"_

_He froze at the Weasley boy's tone, before forcing himself to turn away and ask the muggleborn witch, "How long have you known?" He still had a pretence to maintain._

_The answer would have made him laugh if he didn't feel icy with fear for Sirius, and even some fear _of_ Sirius. Severus' dearest wish when he had assigned that essay was that someone would connect the dots and Hermione Granger was the smartest witch her age that Remus had ever encountered._

"_I have _not_ been helping Sirius," Remus said. "If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain."_

_His three students glared up at him, eyes brimming with distrust and betrayal. He couldn't blame them: they were unarmed and facing down a madman and what they knew to be a highly dangerous magical creature. He knew the stories about werewolves that witches and wizards filled their children's heads with. Lily had once said that even muggles told horror stories about his kind. Harry, Ron and Hermione probably thought that he would happily murder them._

_Trying to regain some control over the situation, he threw their wands back to them and the children caught them easily. The action did not erase the fear and distrust from their eyes but t__hey seemed more likely to listen to him. Harry looked stunned at the act of trust as Remus stuck his own wand back into his belt._

"_There. You're armed, we're not. Now will you listen?"_

_But they didn't listen. He could smell their incredulity and suspicion. Ron shielded Peter from him but he managed to get close enough as he told his hastily improvised story. There was no doubt that the rat was Peter. Even without the Marauder's Map, Remus would have recognised that distinctive rodent scent anywhere. It was faint due to the animagus' small size but it was unmistakeable._

"_He's a wizard," he told the boy, quietly._

"_An Animagus by the name of Peter Pettigrew," Sirius added._

_It took a few seconds for the absurdity of the statement to sink in._

"_You're both mental," Ron breathed._

"_Peter Pettigrew's dead!" Harry accused. "He killed him twelve years ago!"_

_Sirius growled, "I meant to but little Peter got the better of me...not this time though!"_

_Remus panicked as the wizard snarled and lunged at Peter._

"_Sirius, NO!" he yelled, launching himself forwards._

_He hoped the children did not hear the pleading tone in his voice as he begged, "WAIT! You can't just do it like that- they need to understand- we've got to explain!"_

"_We can explain afterwards," snarled Sirius, throwing Remus off and diving for the rat._

_The man was crazy, certifiably mad, and Remus feared for the safety of his three pupils._

"_They've – got – a – right – to – know – everything," Remus panted, making another grab for his master and trying not to crumple under the pain from the bond._

_Thankfully, Sirius stopped struggling, though his hollowed eyes were still fixed on the traitorous rodent. Peter squeaked and twisted in Ron's hands, clawing and biting, desperate to get away._

"_All right then. Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for..."_

_His tone promised later retribution and Remus knew that it would not be pretty. He could feel the headache emerging now, approaching migraine levels as it throbbed in admonishment, and knew that it would not dissipate until Sirius disciplined him. It took all his will to concentrate on the matter at hand. His arm shook as he fixed his wand on Pettigrew._

"_You're going to hear me out, Ron," he said quietly. "Just keep a tight hold on Peter while you listen."_

_Of course the children didn't accept his first attempt at an explanation. They thought he was out of his mind. Two of them were raised by muggles and the truth was too outlandish for the craziest of wizards. Dumbledore himself most likely wouldn't believe them. How was he meant to make them see? Hermione seemed to have a counter for every point in his argument._

"_If you're going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus," Sirius snarled. "I've waited twelve years, I'm not going to wait much longer."_

"_All right..but you'll need to help me, Sirius. I only know how it began..."_

_Context. They needed context. They needed to know how this whole saga had begun and, for Remus, it had begun with a bite on a forgotten moon-lit night. He spun a tale of his lycanthropy- the same lie he had given every single member of the Order years before, mixed with enough truth to be plausible. He admitted being bitten as a small child and told them a sanitised version of the arrangements for him to attend Hogwarts. He pretended he had a clue who his birth parents were, pretended that the Wolfsbane Potion was a miracle cure and tried not to let his preference of James over Sirius show in his voice. When he complimented Harry's father, he complimented Sirius as well. It was still hard, talking about being subhuman. Talking about his transformations still filled him with shame and embarrassment. Even as he knew that he was a stronger and better person than most humans would have him believe, it was hard to shake off the stigma associated with lycanthropy. He smelled Harry's confusion, Hermione's curiosity and Ron's dismay, and his words came haltingly. Behind his back, Sirius grew impatient._

"_Hurry up, Remus," he snapped._

"_I'm getting there, Sirius, I'm getting there..."_

_The stony glare Sirius shot at him made his knees tremble. His head throbbed. The act only extended so far and that...that had been disrespectful of him. He was in enough trouble already without throwing all caution to the wind. No matter what the outcome of this encounter, as long as Sirius did not die, they were going to have to live together again. Best not to start off on the wrong foot like they had the first time._

"_...well, very exciting possibilities were open to us now we could all transform," he continued, as if being a werewolf was akin to having an animagus form._

_He outlined the whole sorry tale of his moonlit adventures, hating himself for bowing to the influence of his friends and their bright enthusiasm. How could he have been so stupid? Yet despite his retrospective horror over his jaunts around Hogsmeade, he felt nostalgic about those nights. His friends had been around him and, for once, he hadn't been transforming alone, to be locked up with nowhere to go and nothing to do except knock lumps out of his own flesh. Those transformations had actually been fun and that was thanks to Sirius and James._

_Harry was appalled when he admitted that he had almost killed Severus Snape._

_Sirius made a derisive noise and sneered, "It served him right. Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to...hoping he could get us expelled..."_

_Remus wanted to scream at him. He wanted to hex him until he couldn't see straight._

"_Severus was very interested in where I went every month," he said, levelly. How could he explain this to Harry? How could he be truthful without imparting Sirius' prejudice onto Harry and without Sirius thinking that he was taking the Slytherin's side? He tried to toe a line between the two sides but Sirius smelled increasingly sour as his account wound on._

"_So that's why Snape doesn't like you," said Harry slowly, "because he thought you were in on the joke?"_

_Under Harry's voice, Remus heard someone speak the incantation to lift a silencing charm and he spun towards the source in time to see Severus Snape pulling off James' old Invisibility Cloak. Harry let out a squawk of indignation as Hermione screamed, and Sirius leapt to his feet._

_Remus' eyes widened. Severus' wand was pointed directly at his chest, as if he was a threat, and that could only mean that the man intended to do harm to Sirius._

_Severus had cast a charm to conceal his scent and Remus couldn't puzzle out what he was thinking. He sounded breathless but his expression was triumphant. His heart galloped at a rate which surely indicated unhealthily high blood pressure. The scent of adrenaline assaulted the werewolf from all sides as the tension in the room rocketed._

"_Severus-" he pleaded, but Snape overrode him._

"_I've told the Headmaster again and again that you've been helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof..."_

_He wouldn't listen. He steamrolled on, ignoring Remus' ardent contradictions._

"_...I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this...he was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin...a _tame_ werewolf..."_

_Remus' eyes narrowed at the allusion to his status. "You fool. Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?"_

_With a bang that made Remus raise his hands to his ears, thin cords burst from the end of Snape's wand, snaring him and bringing him crashing to the floor. The ropes held him fast, holding him immobile, and his instincts were screaming. As Sirius' roars filled his ears, he struggled against the tight bonds. Reeling from shock and unable to understand why Severus would do this, all he knew was that he must escape, must break free. The confinement made bile rise in his throat._

_If he had been thinking more clearly, he would have linked the strength of those instincts to the approaching full moon and perhaps would have reasoned out the potion master's actions. He might have remembered that less than an hour remained until moon rise, he had not taken his Wolfsbane Potion that evening and that he was unsecured in the company of humans. Instead, in the thrall of a rising urge to rip the man's throat out, he desperately tried to lash out._

_Hermione, brave Gryffindor that she was, took an uncertain step forwards and attempted to reason with Snape, to no avail._

"_KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!" Snape shouted, sounding suddenly quite deranged. "DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!"_

_Pain burst inside Remus' ears as the shouts met his sensitive hearing. Of course, Severus thought that he was only helping Sirius because he was his master. No wonder Severus was so angry. He obviously thought the fugitive had forced Remus to help him. He thought Remus was back in the hands of a deranged murderer and that Harry Potter's life was in danger. Of course he wouldn't listen to reason._

_Sirius was going to die. Snape was going to kill him. Remus felt his rage building as the two wizards continued to trade insults. He struggled viciously as his more lupine reactions overwhelmed his fear but there was no give in the ropes. Sirius was going to die. No, worse. Snape was threatening the Dementor's Kiss. They were both going to die: Sirius' soul stolen and his magic snuffed out like a candle by an open window; and Remus with a cruel three months to die in a Ministry holding cell. All because the two idiot wizards hated each other too much to listen._

"_I'll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the Dementors will have a kiss for him too-"_

_He spat a curse at Snape. Dementors wouldn't feed on non-humans, as the wizard knew, but he was likely hinting that Remus would die from the Kiss as surely as Sirius would. Though maybe Severus still knew kindness. Maybe Severus meant to kill him. That would be a mercy, if Sirius was left as a soulless, magicless but living husk. The Werewolf Capture Unit would not execute a werewolf for helping his owner, murderous fugitive or not, as Remus couldn't be expected to do anything else._

_Harry, Ron and Hermione's voices shouted in chorus, "Expelliarmus!"_

_An horrendous thud came from beyond the edge of his vision. Harry gasped._

"_You shouldn't have done that," Sirius said hoarsely, "You should have left him to me."_

_Remus finally realised what had happened. The combined force of three disarming jinxes had knocked the wizard out cold. They were saved. Sirius wasn't going to lose his soul. _

_He slumped with relief, his anger ebbing. Hope welled in him. The children had taken their side against Snape. Suddenly he felt sure that, to some extent, they must have believed him about Peter. There was still a chance for Sirius to kill the slippery little traitor and, with the moon's influence increasing with every passing moment, Remus would quite happily lend a hand. Vaguely, he was aware of Hermione panicking and he renewed his struggles against his bonds as his lupine claustrophobia rose again. Sirius bent down quickly and untied him._

"_Thank you," Remus whispered, as he rubbed his arms where the rope had cut into them. Raising his voice, he added, "Thank you, Harry."_


End file.
